An Unlikely Friendship
by TheSummerNightingale
Summary: Who would've thought Hermione Granger, Gryffindor, could ever be friends with Graham Montague, Slytherin? Go behind the scenes to several moments in Hermione's years at Hogwarts where our Gryffindor princess 'fraternized with the enemy' and started a most unlikely friendship.
1. First Year

**Disclaimers: I don't own the characters or anything other than the plot.**

"**To cap matters, Montague had still not recovered from his sojourn in the toilet. He remained confused and disorientated and his parents were to be observed one Tuesday morning striding up the front drive, looking extremely angry.**

"**Should we say something?" said Hermione in a worried voice, pressing her cheek against the Charms window so that she could see Mr. and Mrs. Montague marching inside. "About what happened to him? In case it helps Madam Pomfrey cure him?"**

-**Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, pg. 678-679**

**So I was rereading the OotP during break, and I came across this excerpt, so I thought it would be interesting to write a fanfiction about Hermione and Montague, friendship wise so here it is! This is my first fanfiction, so I hope you all enjoy it! **

* * *

**First Year**

"If you could move, I'd like to get a book."

Hermione Granger quickly snapped shut Quidditch Through the Ages by Kennilworthy Whisp, and hid the book behind her back. A tall boy who had brown hair, large muscles, and was most definitely not a first year like herself, stood leaning against the shelf opposite of her. Hermione murmured a "Sorry", then shifted so the boy could have access to the book.

After a few painfully silent moments in which Hermione wondered if she'd been caught trying to study for the upcoming Flying lessons, he seemed to select the one he'd come for, and gestured for her to return to her spot, which Hermione gladly did.

"What's that you're reading about?" The boy peered at the book as Hermione shifted it nervously behind her. Hermione thought this an entirely unnecessary question because all the books surrounding her were of the wretched sport – it hardly took a troll's brain to figure exactly what book lay hidden in her hands.

"Just- just a book. I thought I might skim it, just as some light reading." She tried to make it sound as if she wasn't really interested in it, but judging from his raised eyebrows and arrogant smirk, it wasn't very convincing.

"Ah."

Hermione slowly put the book in front of her and flipped back to the pages where her index finger was sandwiched between. She tried to focus on the words, but after what seemed a dreadfully long time, shut the book, and faced the boy who was _still _standing against the other shelf, watching her.

"Is there another book you need to get?"

He looked surprised and said, "No, this is the only one." He held up 1000 Ways to Bend Quidditch Rules.

"Then why are you still here?" demanded Hermione.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, "Didn't recall it was a crime to talk to a pretty girl like yourself." He grinned as Hermione blushed.

"Well, it's a crime to Madam Pince, if you're in the library," she retorted back.

As if on cue, Madam Pince came over, brandishing her sweeper and glaring accusingly at Hermione and the boy. "Out! Out! I will not have you disrupting the peace and quiet in here- and you, Montague! I thought you were banned! OUT!" The boy – Montague, she had called him – grabbed Hermione's hand and, clutching their books, the two ran from the library with Madam Pince following their every move until they reached the open corridor.

They stopped running to catch their breath at the end of the hallway, and when they did, Hermione wrestled her wrist from Montague's grasp. She glared at him accusingly as she rubbed her wrist.

"What?" asked Montague, catching her glare.

"Because of you, _Montague_, I've gotten in trouble with Madam Pince." She started down the hall, thinking she'd go up to her dorm to read instead, where the noise would be minimized to Lavender and Parvati's gossip.

"I believe that's a 'we' you've missed in there," he commented, and strolled alongside her. "And say- since you know my name, how about you go on and tell me yours?"

Hermione turned a corner and raised an eyebrow at him. "And why would you care to know my name?"

"So I can follow you, of course. A charming young lady you are, first year, I presume?"

She felt herself turning red in the face and muttered, "Well, that just makes me want to tell you all my secrets…"

"No, keep your secrets, I just want your name and house, since I already know what year you're in," he said, overhearing her.

Hermione glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. He was obviously a troublemaker, being banned from the library, so she had no idea why he would go there to read a book. But then again, the book he took was about Quidditch, so that meant he was probably a Quidditch player. And he had definitely been at Hogwarts for a while, seeing the knowledgeable tone he had when he said "first year" and the ease in which he was walking, not even looking at which direction led where.

Not that he knew where he was going.

Hermione suddenly realized that this boy, Montague, could surely not be in Gryffindor, for he was not familiar in any way at all. So that left Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. She found herself being drawn to him in a subtle way- just enough to keep her curious.

"Hello?" Montague waved a hand in front of her face.

"Yes?" asked Hermione, slightly irritated at being interrupted in her thoughts.

"So how about it? Your name?"

She laughed out loud, then shook her head. "Not telling you."

Montague looked down at his watch and swore. "Well, our time ends here, fair maiden. I've got a house meeting to go to." He winked at her. "But I can meet you somewhere later, if you want."

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. She could do with a break in her studies. Montague winked again and said, "That's the ticket. Now, if you'd only be so lenient as to tell me your name.."

Hermione laughed again and said, "Save it, I'm not telling you anything, Montague."

He grinned and started down the opposite hall, and called over his shoulder, "You never know.. Oh, and one more thing: you really can't learn how to play Quidditch by reading a book about its history."

Hermione blushed.

* * *

**First Year, November**

"So you're Hermione Granger."

Hermione started, then smiled before looking up from her Potions essay - she recognized the voice even though she'd only had one conversation with him.

"And you're Graham Montague."

In truth, Hermione had worked hard for this piece of information, among others, so she was pleased to see a flicker of surprise on his handsome face – but it disappeared as quick as it had come.

"Not only are you Granger, the girl teachers are constantly raving about, but you're also friends with famous Potter and his friend the Weasel-"

"Don't call him that!" snapped Hermione. They'd only become friends for a week or so, but Hermione felt a great deal of responsibility for Harry and Ron – academically and socially.

"And," Montague continued, as if she had not interrupted him, "to top it off, you're all in Gryffindor."

"Well _you're_ in Slytherin, so that makes us even," she shot back.

Hermione let out a huff, then resumed her essay. She'd been working hard since lunch, and had subconsciously thought she would stay inside until dinner, although the Saturday afternoon was most likely one of the last sunny days of the season. The sound of quill on parchment soothed her, yet she now found herself unable to focus, due to the fact she felt Montague's eyes on her and that, of course,_ he_ _still hadn't moved_.

She slammed down her quill, causing Madam Pince to glare at her over her book. "Do. You. Need something from me?" she hissed viciously.

"No, why?"

"Then could you _please_ remove yourself? There's a reason why I picked the table furthest from the door."

He pretended to think about it for a moment, then replied lazily, "No, I think I will have to refuse that delightfully polite request," placing his feet on the table as he leaned back on the chair.

With a growl of frustration, Hermione scooped up her essay, which was four inches longer than assigned but didn't feel quite complete yet, and rolled it to fit in her bag. As she placed her quills and ink inside as well as a book she decided to borrow, she felt a hand grab her shoulder.

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere where I can finish my essay in peace," Hermione said, shrugging off his hand.

"But I only just got here!"

"Precisely." She pushed in her chair and turned to leave. To her surprise, and slight regret, Montague did not try to stop her as she stalked out of the library, sighting the Weasley twins causing their usual mischief out of the large windows.

But as soon as Hermione had reached the corner, she felt herself being lifted up and around onto someone's shoulder, and through the confusion, saw a head of dark brown hair.

"MONTAGUE!" screamed Hermione, pounding furiously on his back. "LET ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!"

Although she couldn't see his face – she couldn't see anything, really, considering how she was being tossed like a rag doll on this wretched Slytherin's shoulder – she could practically feel him smirk.

"See, this is why this is a good idea, _Granger_."

"What?!" spluttered Hermione, "In no such way is this a 'good idea', so put me down before I start planning your murder!" She paused as a thought suddenly occurred to her. "Where are you taking me anyway?"

There it was again – the feeling of him smirking.

"I thought you might be interested in, say, a broom ride?" said Montague.

"A broom – YOU WILL DO NO SUCH THING!" With newly arrived fervor, Hermione resumed her punching and squirming.

"Now, now, calm down Granger, don't want to attract attention, do we?" This was a remarkably late suggestion, for if the students roaming the halls had not been attracted by Hermione's screams, seeing a Gryffindor being carried by a Slytherin was odd enough.

Hermione felt Montague reach out with his free arm and heard the oak doors open to a light wind and warm sun. As Montage walked, hauling a still frustrated Hermione, he commented, "It's a brilliant idea, really, considering you were so interested in Quidditch when I met you." The smirk.

"It is _not_ a brilliant idea, seeing as I can hardly get my broom to come off the ground," said Hermione rather snappishly. "And would you please let me down? Or I'll be forced to curse you later."

"Fine, I'll put you down, but don't go running away, Granger."

With obvious ease, Montague lifted her down. At that moment, Hermione could have kissed the ground, the sweet, firm ground, because even though Montague had been carrying her no more than a foot or two off it, Hermione had been partially terrified.

But then again, she was probably more terrified of getting on the narrow stick Montague had somehow gotten, and was resting in his left hand.

"Ready, Granger?" He grinned at her, and gestured to the empty Quidditch pitch. Hermione had to admit, the pitch looked appealing, much more so now that she was actually on it, but Quidditch meant flying, and flying meant heights.

"No."

"Excellent, then. Alright, get on." Montague waved the broom and set it closer to the ground. Hermione began backing away slowly, shaking her head furiously.

"No, no, no, flying is really not my thing," she squeaked. "And I'm afraid of heights too."

Montague's eyes widened at that, and he strolled over and grabbed her arm. "I was considering letting you go," he said, firmly placing the broom handle in her hands, "but I'm not letting you walk away until you experience the true meaning of heights."

It took Hermione five more minutes of convincing to put her leg over the broom, and when she did, she winced, expecting to be thrown off to the ground.

"Now, this broom is a Nimbus, and it's one of the best out there," Montague said, although he could have been talking to himself for all Hermione was listening, "so don't you worry about a single thing."

Hermione whimpered and whispered, "Except falling twenty feet in the air."

He laughed. "I'll be right behind you, stop fretting so much, Granger. Alright, let's go!"

Without any other warning, Montague pushed off the ground, his arms gripping the front of the broom while Hermione screamed as they elevated into the air. Her hands were slick with sweat and clung desperately onto the handle. "I'm going to fall off, I'm going to fall off, I'm going to fall off," murmured Hermione, who's eyes were riveted blankly ahead, not daring to look down. The light breeze seemed to sway the broom violently beneath her, only reminding her how high she must be in the air.

"You're not going to fall off," came Montague's voice calmly in her ear. "I'm holding on rather tightly, so the only way you could fall if is if I fall off."

"And that's such a pleasant thought," said Hermione wryly, her eyes shut tight, "considering how clumsy you seem to be."

He scoffed and said mischievously, "Well since you don't believe me, I believe I'll have to show you."

They had been going about five miles per hour, but Montague suddenly leaned forward at an unthinkable speed and swerved – at which Hermione started screaming again – towards the goal posts.

"MONTAGUE, IF I DIE, I'M GOING TO DRAG YOU RIGHT DOWN WITH ME!" Hermione shrieked as he weaved quickly through and around the posts. The only response she got was a light chuckle.

Hermione's bushy hair flew onto her face, obscuring her view for a few seconds. When she'd regained the ability to see, Montague called over the wind, "We're going down now, Granger!"

Down was just as bad, if not worse, than up. In fact, it was so horrifyingly real that Hermione found herself unable to do anything but grip the broom until her knuckles turned an unhealthy white and squeeze her eyes shut. Montague seemed to be having fun going down – she reckoned he didn't normally descend in a perfectly vertical line, and this was proven when he nearly crashed them onto the pitch, Hermione tumbling off the broom three feet off the ground.

The good part was that there was grass underneath, so she didn't hit the ground too hard. The bad part was that she had hit the ground at all.

"MONTAGUE!"

As Hermione sat up, her head throbbing slightly, she saw Montague sitting a few feet away with the broom, rubbing his forehead. When he saw Hermione looking at him, he smiled.

"So what did you think, Granger?"

Hermione felt a growl coming up her throat and stood up shakily. "Let's just say, Montague, in our future meetings, you are hereby banned from taking me on Quidditch rides." She began walking slowly towards the castle, still dazed from her fall although nothing else seemed to be out of the ordinary.

"So there's a next time, huh?" came Montague's voice as she left the pitch, but Hermione pretended not to hear, and left briskly for the Gryffindor Tower, where surely Harry and Ron would be looking for her.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, when the owls came pouring in for the morning post, Hermione watched as Montague, sitting across the hall at the Slytherin table, got a note from a tawny brown school owl. The note said:

_ Library, after dinner._

_ -HG_

He looked up towards the Gryffindor table, caught her eye, and winked. And Hermione, who had had doubts of sending the note in the first place, felt this was only the start of an unimaginable friendship.

* * *

**This may or may not stay a one-shot, but for now it will be!**

**Please review because I'd like to write another story, but it would be nice if I could have some feedback on my writing! Thanks! :)**


	2. Second Year

**Alright, I've decided to continue this story so here it is: Year 2! Thank you all for the reviews – they were what really brought me to write this!**

* * *

**Second Year**

Hermione ran her fingers anxiously down the shelf, looking for the familiar gold font of her favorite book: Hogwarts, A History. She'd already searched for it four times in a matter of two hours, but had resolved she would not stop checking until she found it. It was foolish of her to leave it back at home, and she regretted it deeply. With all the talk about the Chamber of Secrets, she probably wouldn't be able to borrow it until third year.

Hermione sighed and walked back to her table. As she weaved through the shelves, she tried to think of other books about Hogwarts that might talk about the Chamber – thus providing the evidence that Harry was not Salazar Slytherin's heir. She was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed somebody had occupied her seat, idly reading her Transfiguration essay.

"Granger," Montague drawled, "you've been slacking off, thank Merlin. The difference is obvious between this one" -he held up the three inches she had written so far- "and the one last week, which was three feet longer than it was supposed to be."

The two had become close friends – Hermione fancied he was almost as close to her as Harry and Ron were – but coming from rival houses, they only met when there were no prying eyes or accusatory looks coming from their houses; therefore resulting in their habit of calling each other by surname.

"Give it back," said Hermione snappishly, grabbing the parchment from his hands. "I'm not done yet."

She took the seat opposite him, and started to flip furiously through her Transfiguration book, trying to find the section about wand cores and their effects on enlarging items.

"I take it it's not there?" came Montague's voice.

"No."

There was a pause where the only sound was of Hermione's quill scratching on parchment. Then he leaned forward and said in a low voice, "Granger, if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times –Chamber of Secrets simply doesn't exist, and I'm in Slytherin, so I should know." He leaned back again, and smirked in satisfaction at his argument.

"Yes, yes," she said impatiently, "but that does no good for Harry – have you seen the Hufflepuffs these days? If someone doesn't prove that Harry's not the heir of Slytherin, then there's no chance they'll stop being terrified of him!"

"Well that's Potter's problem, not yours," he stated matter-of-factly.

Hermione huffed and slapped down her quill. "That's like telling me not to be friends with him."

"Maybe that's a good idea, ever thought of that, Granger?"

She glared at him. "Why in the name of Merlin would that be a good idea?"

"Listen," Montague said, pronouncing each word carefully and quietly, "you know Draco Malfoy, the one who called you Mudblood?"

Hermione nodded – it wasn't something she could easily forget.

"Well, he's always harping in the common room about how his dad believes You-Know-Who will come back, and I reckon he's right."

"What?!" Hermione gaped at him. "What's that supposed to mean, and how is this even related to the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Think about it, Granger," Montague said seriously. "You said Potter's been hearing things, and there's that whole thing with the Dueling Club – if Potter's not a Parseltongue, I don't know what he is, and if he's a Parseltongue, he's got to be related to Slytherin."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "So what if he's related to Slytherin? You're in Slytherin. Besides, there could be other reasons for why he can speak Parseltongue."

Montague sighed and muttered exasperatedly, "And you're supposed to be the smartest witch of your year…" He cleared his throat and stated simply, "You-Know-Who was the last known relative of Salazar Slytherin."

"I don't believe you." Hermione felt a wave of horror and disgust. She'd always looked up to the Founders, Slytherin included, and had never harbored any less admiration for him than the others. But if Montague was telling the truth…how could one of the greatest wizards of all time be related to You-Know-Who? And if Harry could speak Parseltongue…

"No." Hermione stood up defiantly.

"No, what? It's true."

"I'm not saying it's not. But even if it is, I'm still going to help Harry."

She stalked down the stacks of books again, Montague blundering behind her.

"Stop stalking me," she said shortly as they both rounded a corner.

"I'm providing you help."

"I don't need your help."

"I've got Quidditch practice at six."

"How fortunate."

Silence followed these words.

"Granger."

"_What_?" she asked irritably, stopping in her tracks to glare at him.

"Malfoy's not the person you're looking for."

Hermione felt her jaw open widely, and quickly shut it, while lowering her eyes. He couldn't have possibly found out, could he? She shook her head, and tried to convince herself he could not know.

"Granger."

She looked up at him again, terrified for what would come out of his mouth.

"You want to be more careful, when you talk about your potion." There it was, the dreaded word. _Potion_. Hermione cringed. "I recommend you turn Slytherin - you could learn to be more cunning."

She sighed. "What else do you know?"

"That I've got to get going down to the pitch now, or Flint'll have my head off." He grinned at her, a gesture she did not return. "See you around, Granger, and remember what I told you about Malfoy - he's not the one."

With that, he turned back out of the aisle, leaving Hermione staring bewilderedly in his wake. She shook her head again, and sighed. If he'd known all that, then others probably did as well. She would have to make sure to tell Harry and Ron to be careful...

And he'd said Malfoy was not the one, which presumably meant he wasn't the heir, but how would _he _know? Unless he actually knew who was behind all the attacks... But he would have told her, wouldn't he? She growled in frustration and muttered, "Blasted Slytherins."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the shelf that _should've_ held Hogwarts, A History, but _didn't. _She knew Harry could hold his ground against the rumors, but it still worried her that her best friend was, yet again, at the center of attention. She supposed this wasn't to be reckoned with, as he was Harry Potter, but she wished she could help him in some way.

It was this that immediately dispelled thoughts of telling Harry and Ron that they shouldn't follow out the Polyjuice plan. She'd had her doubts - if Montague was right, they would be wasting time and effort into something that would bring no results. But the Polyjuice would be finished in two weeks, during Christmas holidays, and it wasn't as if Harry or Ron had secret Slytherin friends who told them who was likely to be the culprit and who was not.

_No_, Hermione decided in her head. She would keep brewing the potion, whether Montague was right or not. Draco Malfoy may not have been the heir, but he _could_reveal valuable information. Besides, it occurred to her Montague may have been lying. After all, Slytherins are Slytherins, whether they're friends with Gryffindors or not.

* * *

Montague sighed heavily and placed his head in his hands. _Stupid of me, stupid_. He would've cursed himself the second he'd heard about her, but he had been surrounded by gits like Malfoy who rejoiced at the Muggleborn's attack. He had tried desperately to visit her during his free period but it was all in vain, as Madam Pomfrey was extremely strict about visitors.

"She's petrified, for Merlin's sake! You wouldn't be able to talk to her even if I allowed visitors, and I no longer do, so get off to class!" she had told him, glancing suspiciously at his green and silver tie.

This was to be expected, of course. Even the Ravenclaws, who had never shown too much dislike for Slytherins, scampered in fear whenever they were so much as in the same corridor.

So, as he was unable to visit Granger in the day, he'd come by night. He thought of it as checking up on a friend, but he supposed Madam Pomfrey would call it "breaking and entering" if she caught him. No matter - she wouldn't catch him.

"All my fault," he whispered into the room. If he'd told her what he knew, she and Potter and Weasley could have done something heroic, could've saved the day. She was always telling him Potter and Weasley were more than they looked, but honestly, only Granger's brain could figure this one out.

And now she was lying in front of him, her eyes open but not seeing, her body fixed in place.

He'd known of the basilisk. His father had relayed to him stories that the Dark Lord had once told, and the basilisk was mentioned every time the word 'Slytherin' or 'Parseltongue' came up. He knew the legend of Salazar Slytherin's magical creature, and he'd almost immediately connected the basilisk to the whispers Hermione told him Potter had heard.

Yet he didn't tell her any of it.

He glanced sadly down at her face. He'd known, of course, that she was a potential victim, as she was both Muggleborn and Gryffindor, but he'd never truly imagined himself looking down at her frail, helpless body lying on the Hospital Wing bed.

She'd been found with a mirror, hadn't she? He hadn't listened very carefully to Snape while he was talking - he was too busy trying to take in the fact one of his best friends had just gotten attacked. But yes, that was what his Head had said. Except why would she have had a mirror in the first place?

Montague sat up straight and stared at Hermione's face. Why, indeed, would she have a mirror? And why would she and the other girl - Penelope Clearwater was her name - be sharing one, unless...

His eyes were drawn to the position her hand was in. Her arm was positioned up and in front of her, bent at a right angle, yet her fingers... they were almost pointing downward. An unusual position it was, and how strange that at the very spot beneath her fingers, illuminated by moonlight, was a bulge in the pockets of her robes.

He glanced at the door that led to Madam Pomfrey's quarters. There was no sign of a light or any notion that she had awakened. Carefully, he slipped his hand into Hermione's pocket and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper between his two fingers.

"_Lumos_," he whispered, to see the words inked on the parchment.

It was obviously torn from a book - he smirked, this would be something to tease her about later - and a very old one at that, most likely from one of the tomes she liked to borrow for 'light reading'. The passage read:

_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none_  
_more curious or deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. _  
_This snake, which my reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is_  
_born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are _  
_most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has_  
_a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer_  
_instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and_  
_the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it._

And there, below the passage was a single word, written in a sloppy version of her handwriting, as if she had done it in a hurry: _Pipes_.

Of course. Of course, why hadn't he thought of it before? Potter heard the voices within the walls - of course it'd be using the plumbing. He, once more, cursed himself for not telling her sooner.

The truth was, he hadn't told her because he was slightly worried she'd judge him. After all, even being Muggleborn, she would know that if his father told him stories the Dark Lord had uttered, his father - his entire family - was a Death Eater. And he couldn't tell her that if the Dark Lord managed to return, he'd be next in line.

But then again, he reflected ruefully, he needn't have told her about the Dark Lord, he could have simply stated he'd found it in a book, or heard it from a friend. All he needed to tell her was one word, basilisk, and she'd be off to tell Potter and they'd save the day. But now who was going to tell Potter?

He sighed; something he'd been doing a lot that night. It seemed he was to be the one who told Potter. But how? It wasn't as if they knew each other, aside from Quidditch, and they were from rival houses and not even in the same year. But the note, perhaps the note would be of more use.

Granger had left the note in her pocket for a reason; he presumed it was so the professors or Madam Pomfrey wouldn't find it in her hand and take it. But her fingers had been pointing at it, so she had definitely wanted someone to find it.

With a grimace, he held up the paper in his hands. Perhaps she'd meant Potter to find it after all. He wondered how he could get the information to Potter without it being suspicious. He could give it to a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw - pay them handsomely to ensure they didn't dare speak even his house - but that came by its own risks. The only person who connected himself and Potter was Granger.

He folded the paper crudely, then took a good look at her hand. If he angled the roll of paper, he could make it fit snugly in her hand, then clamp down her fingers so the only part visible would be the edges at the sides of her palm. After a few minutes of squeezing Granger's hand around the paper (an amazing feat for someone who is Petrified), Montague stood up in satisfaction.

Grabbing his wand, he crept to the door and looked back at Hermione's troubled face and the hand that held the most important library book page there could possibly be for this situation. He sighed yet again, then slipped out into the dark corridor.

Hopefully, Potter and Weasley weren't as dimwitted as they looked.

* * *

Hermione strolled happily through the halls, waving to Percy and Penelope, whom she had known were together even before Ginny had. She had never before appreciated the corridors so much - or, in fact, the freedom of stretching her limbs. She hadn't felt anything while she was Petrified (or known anything that had happened after they saw the Basilisk), but when she woke up, she could hardly move for the stiffness of her bones.

As she turned the corner to the hall that had once bore the message of the Chamber, a sudden thought happened to cross her mind, and she wondered why she hadn't thought of it when Harry and Ron had relayed their story. But before she could start thinking about it, she was pulled forcefully by her arm.

As she opened her mouth to scream, she heard a "Be quiet!", but couldn't help a squeal anyway. After all, what else was she supposed to do when she was pulled from a perfectly innocent stroll into the wall?

The sensation was not unlike that of going to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for the first time: simply like walking through nothing, yet emerging to a completely different scene.

"What in the name of Merlin is this place?"

Hermione gazed, awestruck, at the room that was apparently hidden behind the tapestry. It was completely circular, and the only things in it were two chairs and a book lying on a table between the chairs.

"I found it in my second year, accidently," came Montague's voice from behind her. "The only way you can find it is if you need a place to hide." He plopped down on one of the armchairs. "Sit."

She walked over to the red chair and sat down slowly. She picked up the book curiously. "Isn't this...?"

"Yeah, it's the book you tore the page from. I thought you might want to fix it. Although who knew Hermione Granger could purposely damage a book?" He smirked at her.

Hermione looked up at him. "So it was you!"

"Me what?"

"You were the one that put the note in my hand!" She inwardly sighed in relief - if he had put the note in her hand, that meant he _had_visited her while she was Petrified.

His face turned slightly red. "Oh. Yes, I did."

"I was just thinking about how Harry and Ron said they found the page in my hand, but I was certain I had put it in my pocket," Hermione said, "so I wondered how it somehow got to my hand, but of course, it was you!"

Hermione opened the book and flipped to the page that she had torn the paper out. She had regretted it, of course, but it had been necessary. She tapped the page with her wand and said, "_Reparo_."

As she did this, Montague raised an eyebrow and said mockingly, "I'm offended, Granger. Did you think I wasn't smart enough to find it in your pocket? That's low, even for people with brains like yours."

She stuck her wand back in her pocket and pushed him playfully. "Well, I'm just glad it's all over - although I expect Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will never let Ginny alone anymore, they were so relieved she was okay."

"The Weasleys have enough kids as it is," Montague grumbled. Hermione shot him a death glare, and he held up his hands in protest. "Just kidding, Granger, take a joke." Under his breath, he muttered, "Bloody Gryffindors."

"Language," she said reproachfully, then, taking on a more serious tone, said, "But honestly, if you would just _try _to get along with Harry and Ron, just meet them-"

He held up a hand, shaking his head. "Stop right there. The only time I'll ever be seen with Potter in the same room is when we're on the Quidditch Pitch and we're beating their team to pulp. As for Weasley, those wretched twins have pranked me far too many times for me to have a civilized conversation with any of them."

"Well, I'm not into Quidditch, but as we've done quite well in the sport these two years, especially with Harry, I'd reverse who wins and who sulks off the field like spoiled children. As for Ron, he's not like Fred and George, not quite, anyway. Besides, you've witnessed some of my conversations with Ginny, and you don't find her all too bad."

"What about the prefect one, what do have to say about him?"

"Percy can be a right pain, but he's actually quite pleasant to talk to about my studies," she said, stifling her laughter at his disapproving look.

"Granger, I'm limiting your time you can spend with your fellow know-it-alls. You're too brainy as it is - I think you need another Quidditch ride."

Her eyes widened and she got up, horrified, bringing the book with her. "I think not," she said in a high-pitched voice.

"But look at the day, Granger! It's perfect flying weather, and summer break is in two days!"

"Yes, but I really have to go return this book, and spend some time with Ginny to make sure she's okay," Hermione squeaked, walking backwards to the tapestry as Montague advanced in front of her, grinning.

"The Weaslette's fine, Granger, and the book can be returned later. What you really need now is some Quidditch training, to get you into the sport. After all, the Quidditch World Cup is coming up. Besides, everyone's outside, enjoying themselves."

"You forgot, though," she said teasingly, backing out of the hidden room to the hallway, "we can't have everyone seeing a Gryffindor and Slytherin together, can we?"

With that, she sprinted down the corridor, laughing as shouts of "Granger!" echoed down the walls.

"I'll see you next year!" she yelled back as she went off in search of Harry and Ron.

* * *

**So what did you all think about this one? My favorite scene was probably the Hospital Wing one. Please review, my lovely readers!**


	3. Third Year

**Time for PoA! This is my favorite book, so it was really fun to write it! Thanks again for all the reviews, and I hope this is a lengthier, more descriptive chapter than the others :D I'm so sorry that this took forever to come up - school was particularly busy these weeks, so I didn't have much time to write.**

**Oh yeah, I also wanted to clear something up, because I realized this wasn't really mentioned beforehand. Okay, so first of all, this fanfic is made up of moments, and moments only. It's not a story by itself, it's just the little times here and there that fit into the main plot of the books. Second, line breaks signal the end of one moment and the beginning of other, while asterisks are just breaks within a moment...**

**Sorry if that was confusing but I needed to get that out there :P Well, enjoy!**

* * *

**Third Year**

"I'll see you guys later!" Hermione called to Harry and Ron, who were playing Wizard Chess and took little notice of her. She didn't mind, really, as she'd given the excuse of going to the library but wasn't carrying her bag. This was because she simply wasn't going to the library.

The note had come on the third week back, telling her to meet him Saturday at the north edge of the Black Lake. She, of course, replied yes, since she hadn't so much as seen him at the Great Hall or passing through the corridors.

Now, as Hermione rushed down the flights of steps, taking shortcuts to save precious time, she couldn't help but smile at the prospect of seeing her Slytherin friend. Most of the times he was incredibly annoying, especially when he criticized Harry's Quidditch skills (something he did after every game Slytherin lost), but she liked how he wasn't what he seemed – she felt he was far more suited for Gryffindor than Slytherin. Not that she would ever tell him that was what she thought – he would probably never speak to her again.

She broke through the oak doors, grinning when the September wind hit her face. It was a beautiful day, and the weather couldn't describe her mood any better. Hermione jogged down the stone path, where she could see Hagrid's hut and considered paying a visit. She decided she'd make Montague go with her later, and strode across the lawn to the lake where she sat down, looking around for any sign of her friend.

"Granger."

Hermione jumped to her feet at the sound of his voice and said slightly irritably, "Do you have to sneak up on me like that?"

"Is that any way to greet a friend?" Montague retorted, but she could see a hint of a smile on his face.

"Well maybe I'd be nicer if it hadn't taken you three weeks to show yourself," she muttered, turning around to face the lake.

Truth was, she'd felt disappointed, hurt even, when she hadn't seen him the first week, angry the second, and betrayed the third. She had told herself that he was probably busy with studies, and that she should focus on her classes, but his presence lingered at the back of her mind and refused to leave. And then she'd gotten the note, had been renewed of hope and happiness and wonder, wonder at how he knew...

She felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned around.

"Happy birthday, Granger."

Hermione smiled. "How did you know?"

"I have my ways," he said, smirking at her. "Here." He tossed a messily wrapped package at her.

"Thanks." She caught it, startled. "But you didn't have to get me anything."

"It's your birthday, of course I did," he replied, shaking his head at her. She smiled again, but couldn't keep herself from thinking about how Harry and Ron hadn't even known it was her birthday in the first place...

Hermione tore off the wrapping paper and gasped in delight. No words could express the beauty of the sight in front of her: Beyond Hogwarts, A History. "I...How..? How did you even get this?!"

"Connections. Father's on good terms with the Minister, and the Minister is friends with the author."

"But it's only the most exclusive Wizarding book ever-! Most people don't even know about it!"

"Yes, well, I figured you'd like a copy."

"Thank you so much!" Hermione threw herself at him, surprising herself at her own bluntness.

"Erm. You're welcome." Montague said, awkwardly patting her shoulder. She pulled away and bit her lip in embarrassment. "Er. So where do you want to go?"

She brightened up at this, then turned and looked longingly at the book. Montague followed her eyes, and said, "Unless you want to read it now."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. The offer was certainly quite tempting, but she felt that she should spend the day with her friend - after all, she'd waited for this day ever since June.

"I'll read it later," she decided, tucking the beloved book under her arm. "Let's walk around the castle." She strode off through the grass, Montage trailing behind her.

"What happened to privacy, Little Miss 'I-Don't-Want-Anyone-To-See-Me-With-A-Slytherin'?"

"Everyone I know is probably inside," she said unconcernedly, skipping ahead.

He jogged alongside her. "What do you mean, inside? Aren't they probably looking for you? You're the birthday girl, after all."

Hermione glanced sideways at him. "Well, the thing is, they don't know today's my birthday. And no, I'm not going to tell them, they have enough to worry about without me adding to it," she added when he opened his mouth to retort.

He sighed exasperatedly. "Fine."

They walked in silence up the rocky path and stopped at the border between the castle and the grounds.

"Do you think we should visit Hagrid?" Hermione asked, too caught up to notice the horrified expression on Montague's face.

"_Visit_ him? You want me to _visit _him?" His face contorted into a look of disgust.

"Come on, you've said he's not too bad!" She glared at him.

"Yes, well, that doesn't mean I can go and _visit_ him!" He shook his head and muttered, "Honestly, Granger, we Slytherins would rather _not_visit someone who sends us to go buy biting books..."

She huffed. "Fine, then. If you won't go, I will." She started making her way to Hagrid's hut.

"Granger, come back here! Don't make me- oh, Merlin." Montague ran in front of her, walking backwards. "We could do so many other things on your birthday. How about Quidditch? We could explore the castle. Read books? That's what you like, right? Come on, Granger, you wouldn't make me do this, would you?"

"I would," she said indifferently, shoving him out of her way. "And I'm absolutely forcing you to come along with me."

He scoffed, blocking her way down the path. "You can't force me."

Hermione drew out her wand from her pocket. "Move, or I'll hex you."

"Hex me, I'll take points from Gryffindor."

She gaped at him, then quickly shut her mouth. "You can't do that."

"Can't I?" He raised an eyebrow at her, and pulled out a badge from his Muggle jeans. "Better check your facts, because last time I read Hogwarts, A History, Prefects can, actually, take points from houses."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the silver and green badge that said "_Prefect"_on it in gleaming letters. "Nobody in their right mind would make you a prefect."

Montague laughed. "Well some say Dumbledore's off his rocker, so I suppose that's right."

She stared at him. "You're _prefect_."

"I am."

She slowly stuck her wand back in her pocket, staring suspiciously at the badge.

"I'm offended, really," Montage said teasingly, "that you've never thought of me being prefect. I'm fifth year, after all, fourth in my class and on the Quidditch team. I'd say I've had a good chance at prefect."

Hermione looked at him, and said in a slightly worried voice, "Now I simply have to be prefect when I'm a fifth year..."

He glanced at her incredulously. "Granger. You're going to be prefect."

"How can you be sure?" she all but whispered.

He moaned torturously and started to pace in front of her. "You're the smartest witch your year, and probably would be for mine as well. All the teachers, with the exception of Snape, use you as the perfect model, and even he doesn't criticize you, on the account of the fact _there's nothing to criticize you on_, and how many classes are you taking?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve. That's right, you're a third year, and you're taking _twelve_classes," Montague ranted, sounding slightly hysterical. He paused in his tracks. "Granger. At this rate, you could've become a prefect your first year."

Hermione smiled, her spirits renewed. "Let's get going to Hagrid's," she said happily, pushing him to the side.

"Oh. Right."

As they picked their way through the path, Montague stopped her once more. "Say, how are you taking twelve classes anyway? There's not enough time to..."

Hermione's eyes widened and she desperately racked her brain for a believable story. "Er. I just hurry along my way from class to class..." She felt the cool glass of the Timeturner on her chest beneath her clothes. Lately, she'd been feeling more stressed than ever with the glass hanging on her neck, and it felt more like a burden than a privilege to carry around.

"But it doesn't make sense, the way our timetables work, you wouldn't be able to finish the classes on time."

"Would you look at that," Hermione said quickly, her heart hammering in fear, "we're already here!" She rapped on the door, praying Hagrid was inside.

Thankfully, the door opened before Montague could question her any longer.

"Hermione! I was jus' thinkin' to visit yeh for yer bir'day!" said Hagrid, beckoning her inside with Fang at her heels. "Harry an' Ron'll be inside, eh? Who's this lad here?"

"Oh, that's Graham Montague," provided Hermione, as the said person seemed unable to speak as he walked into the hut. Hagrid closed the door and went to the kettle.

"Montague, eh? Aren' yeh a Slytherin?"

She sat down at the table and placed down her book. Montague took his place across from her, a slightly horrified look on his face.

"Yes, he's a Slytherin, and he's a fifth year."

Hagrid peered at him as he poured their tea. "An' what're you doin' with a Slytherin, eh, Hermione?"

"We're friends," she said shortly, accepting her mug of tea, and added, "Thanks."

"Harry an' Ron know abou' him?"

"Well, no," she replied slowly, glancing over at Montague to see if he wanted to speak for himself. But as his face was still glazed over as if he couldn't believe he was having tea at Hagrid's, she decided it was best he kept quiet, lest he insult Hagrid in the spur of the moment.

Hagrid looked at Hermione, who sipped her tea nervously. He was the first person she'd told about her Slytherin friend - would he disapprove, or worse, tell Harry and Ron?

"It's unheard o' bu' I trust yer judgemen', Hermione," said Hagrid, his eyes beaming down on her.

"Thanks, Hagrid," she said warmly, sincerely meaning it.

"Er, Hermione?" Hagrid whispered, leaning closely to her. "Does 'e talk?"

Hermione laughed. "Normally," she said, not bothering to keep quiet, "he talks non-stop, but I suppose he must be terrified of Fang."

He glared daggers at her from across the table. "Shut it, Granger."

"What are you going to do, take points away?" she teased.

He scowled. "I very well could."

Hagrid watched their exchange amusedly. "How long've yeh've known each other?"

"Since first year," said Hermione. "We met in the library."

"So you're a book person, eh?" Hagrid directed at Montague.

"Er," he said brilliantly, looking startled at being addressed. "More Quidditch, actually."

"He's on the Quidditch team," Hermione added.

Montague jolted up from his seat, glancing frantically at Hagrid's clock. "Speaking of Quidditch, I think I'm late for the first Quidditch practice of the year."

Hermione stood up as well, picking up her beloved book with her. "Harry and Ron will probably be wondering where I am, too," she said apologetically.

Hagrid walked to the door and opened it for them. The two walked out and turned to Hagrid.

"Thanks for the tea, Hagrid!" said Hermione cheerfully, and nudged Montague.

"Thanks," he said quickly, rubbing his arm.

"Yeh're welcome, come an' visit me anytime," Hagrid replied, his eyes crinkled in warmth. He added quietly, whispering to Hermione, "An' I won' tell Harry an' Ron."

She grinned. "Thank you."

She and Montague started up the path, the former waving down at the gamekeeper.

"It wasn't that bad, right?" Hermione commented.

He glanced at her. "Not quite as torturous as I thought."

She smiled. "Exactly."

* * *

"Blimey."

"It's better than I imagined."

"And I thought Fred and George were kidding, but.."

Hermione and Ron were two among the many third years who stood at the Hogsmeade gate, gazing in admiration all around them.

"If only Harry could see this," Hermione breathed. Ron nodded in agreement.

"Let's go," she said happily, grabbing Ron's arm and pulled him behind her.

As they made their way down the row of shops, Hermione suddenly stopped in wonder, and sent Ron crashing into her.

"What'd you do that for?" Ron asked grumpily. Hermione only pointed up in response.

"It's a quill shop," she whispered.

"Oh, Merlin," Ron complained. "Not even five minutes into Hogsmeade."

"I'll be out really quick," she promised, then raced into the store.

It was even better inside than out. Quills of all colors, of all sizes and durability, and the smell of parchment lingering in the air. Ink bottles, books, all the things Hermione loved. She marveled over a black quill, laughed when she saw the peacock quill that so reminded her of Professor Lockhart, and entertained herself with the books.

She was immersed in a book about quills in the making when she was quite rudely interrupted.

"Well, well, well. Look who's decided to taint the shop with their dirty blood."

Hermione gritted her teeth in annoyance and left the aisle to the display of quills. "Hello to you as well, Malfoy."

He followed her. "Where's Potty and the Weasel? Too repulsed by you to be your bodyguards?" Malfoy sneered.

"Seeing as your own escorts are not present," she said sweetly, selecting a durable quill from the array, "maybe you should speak for yourself." Hermione turned towards the register, while taking out both her wand and her pocket money. But before she could get any further, a vice-like grip was forced upon her wrist.

"I'd watch it if I were you... _Mudblood_."

Before Hermione could even react, she heard a sickening crack, Malfoy crying out in pain, and the grip on her hand slackened. She turned around and gasped. Malfoy was on the floor, clutching his bleeding nose, and her savior stood menacingly over him, his hand balled in a fist.

"That," said Montague calmly, "was for calling her a Mudblood."

He yanked Malfoy up to his wobbly feet, and thrust his wand at his face. "_Episkey_," he muttered. "And that," Montague declared, pushing Malfoy away from him, "was so I trust you won't go running to tell anyone about this."

Malfoy nodded his head vigorously and ran out of the shop. Hermione heard a faint "Oi!" that she reckoned came from Ron.

Hermione smiled at her friend, who was staring distastefully after Malfoy. "Thanks," she said, rubbing her wrist. "Remarkable timing, too."

Montague tore his eyes from the door. "Well, actually, I saw you come in here first, then that little git there came in a few minutes afterward. When neither of you came out, I decided to take a look."

She grinned, and went to purchase her quill. "I have to admit, I've never seen Malfoy looking more scared."

He scoffed. "Only because _my _father intimidates _his_." As they approached the door, he stopped her and said, "You go out first. Weasley's out there waiting, so it'll look suspicious if we go out the same time."

"Okay," she agreed. "See you around?"

"See you, Granger."

* * *

Hermione collapsed on the floor and gasped for breath, tears streaming down her face. Her hair clung to her forehead, slick with sweat, and her arms were shaking so badly, they could hardly support her.

A fresh wave of tears submerged her as she recalled the fiery eyes of boggart Harry and Ron as they yelled at her, as they were yelling at her now...

She'd come to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room to talk to Professor Lupin about their homework assignment, but when she got there, the door was unlocked and there was no one inside. Telling herself Professor Lupin would probably be within the room somewhere, Hermione cautiously walked into the classroom, yet still didn't see any sign of the professor. It was then that she decided her question could wait, and was just about to exit the classroom when she saw the boggart.

The case was propped up against the wall, the doors completely closed. She had stepped up to it, had felt the edges of the hinged sides, and had fingered the handle many times until she decided to open it.

It was really curiosity that killed the cat (although she didn't prefer it to be "the cat", seeing as she had one). Hermione had anxiously awaited her turn during that particular DADA lesson, and had been sorely disappointed when both she and Harry did not get a chance at the boggart. So naturally, thinking of how she could practice the spell firsthand, Hermione decided to take her chances, and opened the case.

Within ten seconds into her boggart's form of her worst fear, Hermione had dropped her wand and stood in front of her boggart, crying in agony and despair.

She imagined her boggart to take the form of something to do with studies, such as what Ron had said about failing one of her tests. She never expected it to be about her friends, and she certainly did not have an inkling her worst fear included Graham Montague.

However, the instant the boggart was released, it turned into three people: Harry, Ron, and Montague. With every word they spoke, their voices, echoed in her head... shouts of betrayal, of incredulity, of _knowledge_. Her head pounded just from hearing them, but what really bothered her was their eyes. Their eyes were of hatred, and of deepest loathing. Their eyes glared into her, pierced into her soul.

Hermione Granger couldn't stand it anymore. She slumped down to the floor and disappeared into a world of black, boggart Harry and Ron still screaming into her ears.

Remus Lupin had watched many cry, scream, and shout when presented with their worst fear, but he had never seen a student, or anyone, faint from a boggart. He'd been standing shell-shocked at seeing third year Hermione Granger in front of a boggart that stood as Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Graham Montague. He didn't have the slightest notion as to why the fifth year Slytherin would be incorporated into the third year's greatest fear, but either way, the scene was absolutely horrific even to his eyes.

Now, Remus surged up to help the girl, banishing the boggart himself when it turned into the pale, full moon. He lifted her up and propped her into a chair, where he made sure she wasn't physically damaged, then left in search of chocolate.

When he came back, Hermione was just stirring. "Profess - Professor Lupin?" she murmured.

"Eat. It'll help." He broke off a piece of chocolate for her, which she nibbled timidly.

"Ooh," she said as the warmth of the candy coursed through her veins. "Thank you."

"No problem," Lupin responded, watching her carefully.

After a few minutes of silence, Hermione spoke up quietly. "I'm sorry that I-I used the boggart. I just thought that I c-could take it on by myself, I never imagined it would be so- so horrible."

"Sometimes it's like that," he replied, frowning slightly.

"I j-just never thought _he'd_be part of m-my worst fear."

"Graham Montague, you mean?"

"Yes."

Hermione stood up, wiping the last of her tears away. "I had a question," she said, "about our assignment."

"Of course," Lupin nodded, standing up as well, yet was completely lost in his thoughts as he helped Hermione.

It was half an hour after Miss Granger had left, but Remus was still pondering over her boggart. He had been shocked to find out Montague had been part of her worst fear, and even more so to realize that the girl was actually _friends_with the Slytherin.

He'd come to this conclusion by the few seconds he'd seen the boggart, and by the secrecy that was unveiled at the moment he mentioned names.

But curious, curious. Remus hadn't thought much of it at all, when he'd seen the girl with bushy hair lying on the ground when he'd had fifth years review with the boggart. He only focused on how the older Slytherins' fears were dark - most of them including Lord Voldemort himself.

Remus sighed. Perhaps he should tell Dumbledore, or advise Harry and Ron to be kinder to Hermione. But how strange that he be reminded of a certain red-haired woman now, in the form of Hermione Granger: Lily Potter. He remembered that one day she confided in him, back in seventh year, when she was just Lily Evans dating James Potter. She had told him what everyone already knew - she and Severus Snape were _friends_. But Lily had gone even further than that. She'd told him she was scared - scared she and Snape wouldn't be friends anymore because of James, scared. He hadn't understood her, not really, but at last, he did.

He stood up, and knew he would not tell Dumbledore of his findings, and least of all, talk to Harry and Ron about it.

No, Remus Lupin would let this generation's Lily and Snape go on in peace if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

"I can't believe them!" Hermione seethed angrily, slamming her book bag down onto the table and sat violently onto the chair.

"Mhm" came the helpful response from the person she currently felt was her only best friend.

"It could help for them to be a little more open-minded - the only reason I turned in the Firebolt was because you never know what can happen when you're sent a perfectly expensive gift with no trace of a name on it!"

"Well, I support you," he replied lazily, "seeing as if you hadn't, the Gryffindor team would have gotten yet another advantage on their side."

She glared at him. "You're not helping."

Montague leaned closely to her. "Maybe I would if I hadn't heard this a million times already."

"Well it's not my fault they keep on ignoring me everywhere I go, and act like I don't exist. I have them, classes, homework, you, the Weasley twins, and then there's the whole deal with my Timeturner-"

Hermione stopped abruptly in horror and whispered, "I shouldn't have said that, right?"

"A _Timeturner_? Granger, you've got yourself a _Timeturner_?" He stared at her in astonishment and glee. "You're more daredevil than I thought!"

"Merlin, I've got to add being expelled to my list," she murmured faintly, ignoring him completely while envisioning herself being banished from Hogwarts for letting it spill she had a strictly Ministry-used item with her at school.

"Don't worry, I won't tell a soul," promised Montague, who looked as if his birthday had come early.

"You better not," she growled.

"I wouldn't!"

"You sound like Harry and Ron."

"Oh thanks, Granger, because I've always wanted to sound like Potter and Weasley." She didn't reply to this, and only stared ahead blankly. "Granger? Granger? …Granger, are you _crying_?"

Hermione shook her head desperately, but almost simultaneously started to sob quietly into her hands. "I-it's just that I-I c-can't even t-talk to them because th-they're so m-mad at me, but I was only tr-trying to help, b-because th-there's all the w-warnings about B-black trying to k-kill Harry, and this is the only w-way I could h-help him, other than g-give them my homework to c-copy, and now they're m-mad at me and I d-don't know w-what to do!"

Her shoulders shook as all the pain and tears she'd held back were released into the open. How could Harry and Ron do this to her? Wasn't she their best friend?

Hermione felt a hand touch her shoulder, and took her face out of her hands. Her eyes met Montague's as he said quietly and comfortingly, "Hey. Don't worry. They'll realize what an amazing friend you are when they stop being such idiots. Here." He stood up and pulled her up as well, then slung her bag on his shoulder. "Let's go for a walk."

"Okay," she sniffled.

As they exited the library, she stopped him, clearing her face of tears. "Thank you."

"No need. That's what friends are for."

Hermione smiled. He was right. Harry and Ron would talk to her again. She was overreacting, when she could forget about them and spend precious time with Montague.

She mentally nodded to herself. Her two Gryffindor friends wouldn't talk to her, but she would always still have her Slytherin friend to confide in.

* * *

**I'd like to ask for all of you readers' opinion on something, since I can't decide for myself: Should I have them start to call each other by first name (Hermione/Graham)? I wasn't sure whether to or not, because first of all, I think that calling him Graham might be weird, since everywhere else, he's been addressed as Montague. On the other hand, the two are getting closer to each other, so it would be rather odd to have them call each other by surname.. **

**Please review if you can, on whether they should be on a first name basis or last name basis! Any and all reviews are appreciated! :D **


	4. Letters and the World Cup

**Alright, finally done! I decided to separate the Quidditch World Cup from Hermione's fourth year, because I felt like it was too important to jam into year four. Still, this chapter's rather short because there's literally just some letters and a single moment about the World Cup (as the chapter title suggests). Thanks for the reviews and replies to my mini poll!**

* * *

_Granger-_

_I felt I must acquaint you with the Wizarding way of sending mail - owls. Now, don't fear them, and certainly do not scare them off. My owl, Cilan, is quite gentle, and will not be of any harm (although he may see your load of hair as a nest... just kidding, Granger, just kidding)._

_Feeding the owls is rather important. In fact, I have dutifully trained Cilan to await a treat when delivering a letter. Therefore, it is best to give a snack of almost any kind - water, crumbs, anything will do. Of course, the owls prefer owl feed, but I doubt Muggles carry that around. _

_Owl claws are a nasty affair - never provoke them into scratching you. It's the same with their beaks - they'll peck you until you're black and blue, and can rip things to shreds so don't ask them to correct your summer homework or something like that._

_I've attached a package, which contains a book (I almost did not send it, in fear of you having an antisocial summer reading books) about owl care. It covers the information I missed. _

_I hope I have aided you with the ways of magical post, and also trust your summer is going well._

_-G.M._

_P.S. Kindly do not let that wretchedly spoiled cat of yours even catch sight of Cilan._

* * *

_Montague-_

_Harry, Ron, and I have been sending letters the last two summers, as well as this one. But I thank you for the book!_

_-H.G._

* * *

_G- _

_You could have mentioned that before, oh brilliant one. _

_Thanks to you, Father and Mother think I'm a lunatic for purchasing a book on the care of the animal I've had for the past six years, and has had our house elf track me ever since._

_Will you be going to the Quidditch World Cup? Father got us free tickets from the Ministry - Top Box. We might even be able to meet the players, and I hope that means Krum. Krum's a genius, and at any rate, much better than Potter. He plays for Bulgaria, and their team will be playing against the Irish. Do go. It's only the biggest event in the past decade._

_-M_

* * *

_M-_

_I don't think your house elf should be ordered to follow you like that! How would you like it if you had to follow someone for every minute of the day - especially someone as irritating as you?_

_Yes, I will be going to the World Cup, with Ron's family and Harry. They've told me all about Krum; however, I've done some research on him, and he doesn't sound all that great. I mean, he's made some decent saves, but I don't see the big deal about him._

_I've just about finished my summer homework - how far have you gotten? Mum went crazy when she saw my assignment for Potions: Write an essay on the uses of dragon liver. I decided not to show her the pictures in my textbook, but it was very tempting. _

_Oh, I forgot to tell you something in the last letter: Crookshanks hasn't gotten to Cilan (who is simply delightful, and as gentle as Hedwig, Harry's owl) but Ron's owl has taken quite the liking to him. His name, Pidwidgeon, explains everything you need to know about the owl._

_Mum's calling me for dinner, so I'll stop here. _

_-G_

* * *

_G-_

_The house elves live for the purpose to serve the masters of the house. And they enjoy it too._

_Shame, that you're going with the Weasleys to the World Cup; I was hoping I could see you, but I can't very well be seen near the lot of them. I'm offended, really, at your remark about Krum. Viktor Krum's only the most famous, well-liked Quidditch player ever, and you talk about him as if he's nothing but scum. "Decent saves", I ask you?! Preposterous._

_But going back to Weasley - since when does he have an owl, I thought he could only afford that dirty rat of his. And what type of name is "Pidwidgeon"? Leave it to the Weasel to name his owl that. I cannot believe what horrors I am sending Cilan to._

_-M_

_P.S. I haven't so much as unpacked my textbooks yet - don't remind me._

* * *

_M-_

_What's it like for you, being a Pureblood? I never got around to asking you, but I've always wondered... It certainly must be rather different from being Muggleborn... Oh, I don't know, I was just thinking about it the other day..._

_Anywho, the World Cup's in two weeks - I can hardly wait. Of course, as you know, I'm not a fan of Quidditch, not really, but I'm still excited - everything I've read about the Cup praises it highly, and I suppose I'm lucky it's so close. I do hope I'll see you there. _

_But honestly, be more mature about _Harry_ and _Ron_ (those are, after all, their names). They're not that bad - almost like you: annoying, immature, and crazy about Quidditch. Now that I think about it, the only thing separating you three is that you're from rival houses. Otherwise, you'd get along fine with the Weasley family, and Harry. Just keep from the twins - I hear they're concocting some nastily devilish sweets, with the idea of creating a joke shop. _

_-G_

* * *

_G-_

_Why the sudden interest in Pureblood status? It never seemed to occur to you before... Although I do have to admit, we've got the best Wizarding lifestyle there is._

_But you may be wondering about the Weasleys; they _are_ Purebloods, are they not? Well the reason why they no longer live in luxury is simple - they're blood traitors. All the Purebloods know this: that the Weasleys are the biggest blood traitors there are. Come to think of it, the Potters were blood traitors as well. Except there's only one Potter left, and everyone idolizes him, so most don't think about that._

_I'm telling you this simply to inform you of the Wizarding society._

_-M_

* * *

_That was the most insulting letter anyone's ever written to me._

_- H.G._

* * *

Hermione sat on the edge of her seat, gazing down onto the stadium. The veelas were doing their dance, and she personally did not find them as appealing as all the others did (honestly, if the boys leaned any further, they would go right over the edge). A few seats away sat Ginny, looking just as bored as Hermione felt. The youngest Weasley turned to Hermione and rolled her eyes at her brothers. Hermione grinned in agreement.

Truth was, Hermione really, _really_wanted to turn around, because a few rows back sat none other than Graham Montague and his family. When she first walked into the Top Box with the Weasleys and Harry, he'd been the first person she saw. She'd quickly averted her eyes, but could feel him trying to catch her attention the entire time.

She was still angry at him for what he wrote; all the things about "blood traitors" and "the luxurious life of a Pureblood". She had asked him only for a _brief_ description of the firsthand difference between the levels of Wizarding society, and he'd replied with a letter more rude and _specific_containing information she couldn't care less to know about.

And he had targeted Harry and Ron.

That was probably the most unforgivable part, that he'd deliberately criticized her two other best friends - and why? He stressed that they were blood traitors - only blood traitors to what?

Hermione knew the answer, of course, but for once, knowing the answer left her more confused and worried than not. Because who were the Weasleys blood traitor to, if not You-Know-Who and his followers?

She sighed as Ron excitedly collected leprechaun's gold. She didn't tell him they would disappear later, since he seemed quite overjoyed by the sight of the Galleons, and she didn't really want to ruin his happiness with the truth.

As the game began, and Ludo Bagman started to comment on the players, Hermione couldn't keep herself from thinking about a certain Slytherin sitting in the stands behind her. It wasn't her fault that she was too insulted to reply to the influx of letters that came after the short one she sent, was it? Oh Merlin, he was probably furious with her. But not much more than she was with him.

She gazed idly at the Quidditch players, hearing the crowd cheer and boo within the game, and in particular, within Viktor Krum.

The letters she'd gotten from Montague and Ron had both praised Krum greatly - in fact, Hermione had put them side-by-side, and had been amused to find the Slytherin and Gryffindor's words of admiration had been almost identical. The... what was it called, the Wonka Faint? Something like that... she didn't think it was too amazing of a feat.

* * *

"What's going on?!" Ginny yelled as she ran to the tent flap.

"I don't know!" Hermione ran behind her.

"Hermione! Ginny!" came the shouts of the Weasley brothers.

The two girls burst out into a scene of dishevelment. Much of the campers were running all about, leaving tents and other items behind. Hermione pushed her way through the people to join Harry, Ron, and the others.

But before she could reach the Weasleys, someone grabbed her and pulled her behind. Hermione got ready to scream and pulled out her wand, but a hand covered her mouth.

"Be quiet and hear me out," came an urgent whisper, "stay with Potter and Weasley, keep your wands at the ready, and if Malfoy says something to you, _make sure you listen to him_!" Hermione was let go and pushed to the others, her ears ringing with the words he whispered.

"Stay together!" shouted Mr. Weasley as he rushed off with Ministry officials.

Hermione, just growing terrified, grabbed onto Harry and Ron, as they were separated from all the others by the mob of people.

* * *

**Okay, here's the fourth chapter - short, I know. I **_**was**_** going to combine it all with fourth year, but... I decided that doing that would make my update even slower than it already is. I'm already working on the next one though, so hopefully I can get it in very, very soon!**

**Please review!**


	5. Fourth Year

**Yay! Onto fourth year - where Lord Voldemort comes back, and everything gets a bit darker, but this chapter won't be too dark and stuff. I also found that I wanted to include more moments in each chapter, so some of the moments are rather short... Enjoy!**

* * *

Hermione struggled to heave her belongings onto the Hogwarts Express, nearly dropping Crookshanks's cage as she boarded. Her cat's eyes snapped open and glared at her reproachfully. "Sorry," she whispered, and the darling animal purred and promptly fell back asleep.

Hermione moaned when she saw the steps up the train, and deeply regretted bringing so many books with her. With a sigh, she started towards the steps, her arms aching.

"Let me help you with that."

Strange, Hermione thought wryly, that he always arrived at the times she needed him. And it was almost infuriating, the way he introduced his presence. He sounded... suave, smooth, like he was the superhero coming to save her. And it was really horribly annoying.

"Thanks," she said gratefully as he easily scooped up her trunk.

"Couldn't leave a damsel in distress, could I?" he smirked.

She rolled her eyes at him, but otherwise did not reply.

The two made their way down the corridor in silence, attracting odd looks from people here and there in their compartments.

Right as they were about to turn into what was "Gryffindor territory", Montague turned to her and asked quietly, "You're still upset with me, aren't you?" It wasn't quite a question.

She turned away and didn't answer for awhile. "Why did you become friends with me, first year?"

This was a question she asked herself many times, over and over, and never came up with an answer. Why, indeed, would a third year Slytherin take any notice of a first year Gryffindor? It wasn't rational, logical, or any of the things Hermione knew most about. And especially, oh, especially since she was a...

"You were interesting," he said simply, shrugging, "and that interested me."

But there was something behind his little shrug, something Hermione saw in his eyes that she couldn't make a heads or tails out of. She looked at him appraisingly for a moment before saying, "Okay."

Hermione reached for her trunk and was about to go down the hall to an empty compartment, when he spoke to her.

"You did listen to Malfoy, didn't you?"

She paused. "I suppose."

"Yet you were there when he cast the spell."

Hermione gasped slightly, then wheeled around. "How do you know that?" she demanded, her voice shaking. It wasn't possible that... that her best friend was in on it? Was in on You-Know-Who?

"The same way I know a lot of things," he answered vaguely.

She huffed in frustration. "Well, what of it?"

"What of what?"

"What of 'you were there when he cast the spell'?"

"Well, first off, you didn't listen to Malfoy..."

"I'm not talking about Malfoy!" she seethed. "And why are you so intent on me following Malfoy's orders? I thought you despised him almost as much as I do!"

"He's a decent bloke."

Hermione gaped at him for a moment, then turned away back to her belongings. "Slytherins," she muttered, and started down the corridor.

"Just so you know, whatever he said, it was out of fear."

She stopped in her tracks yet again. "You don't even know what he said."

"Yes, well, he's a git, but I doubt he'll go down the wrong way."

She kept silent, and resumed walking. How did he _know_ these things?

"See you around, Granger, though I expect this year will be quite busy and you'll be too excited to make time for me. What with Potter and Weasley."

Hermione closed her eyes. She really didn't like how he had said "Potter" and "Weasley".

* * *

"It's not his fault."

"Oh, yes it was."

"How else would his name have gotten in?"

"I don't know, but if he says he didn't do it, he didn't do it."

"You trust people too much."

"You should be less narrow-minded."

"Granger, listen to yourself! Aren't you the one who loves logic and reasoning? The only way Potter could've entered the Triwizard Tournament was if he put in his name himself!"

"_Harry didn't know_! He was appalled at being chosen - the tournament was something where he _finally_ wouldn't be in the spotlight because he _could'nt_. Didn't you see his face when his name was called? He was horrified!"

"Actually, I didn't, because I was busy thinking about how Diggory would beat Durmstrang and Beauxbatons - not Potter."

"Well, what do you want me to do, stop supporting him?"

"Maybe that'd be smart."

"You can't just tell me to do that!"

"I just did."

"Argh!" Hermione growled, glaring at the boy propped up against the beech tree. "Listen to me very, very closely. There is no way that I will just 'stop supporting him', _especially since that's exactly what Ron's been doing_!"

The Slytherin looked slightly thrown off. "Wait, so the Weasel's come to his senses..?"

Hermione groaned, laying down onto the grass. "No," she said slowly, as if she was speaking to a child, "but he better soon, or I'll be forced to hex him. Honestly, Harry's got enough troubles already."

"Or you could think about it this way - he's got less troubles, because Weasley's out of the picture."

"You," she snapped, turning to face him, "are not much help."

"I try."

Hermione moaned, and sat up again. "And then he's got this whole first task thing to worry about... how is he supposed to face a _dragon_? I don't know the first thing about dragons-"

"I object," Montague interrupted, "You've probably read a million books about dragons already."

"Not how to get past them, _because no one's daft enough to try._"

"He'll figure something out, he's Potter. Even if he messes up, people will think he's heroic." Hermione thought there was a hint of jealousy in this particular sentence, but she didn't point it out. "Besides," Montague continued, "he's got you."

"Not in my current state, he hasn't," she muttered, but blushed anyway.

"You'll find something, stop stressing."

"It's in two days. Two days, Montague. I'm going to stress." Hermione sighed and stared up into the November sky, which was surprisingly clear and warm. She smiled, despite of things, and sat in silence. This silence was broken by Montague.

"How about we talk about other things?"

"Like...?"

He grinned mischievously. "Like the whole ferret incident."

Hermione burst out laughing. "I swear, no one will ever let him live that down... I mean, it was prohibited punishment, and McGonagall was in a right state about it, but I have to say, that was brilliant."

"Professor Moody _is_ interesting. His lesson plans are certainly entertaining."

She looked at him, appalled. "_Entertaining_? I should say not! He's using Unforgivable Curses-"

"-which have been approved by Dumbledore himself-"

"-but which should simply not be taught at school, especially since..." she trailed off.

"Since what?" he prompted.

"Well, haven't you noticed that when he's teaching the spells, he's... a little too eager?" she asked hesitantly, biting her lower lip.

Montague raised his eyebrows. "No, I have to say I haven't."

"I mean, it's not too obvious, but if you really look at him... it's almost as if he's enjoying himself."

Hermione whispered this last part, but her voice still trembled. Montague glanced at her, and for a moment, their eyes met and Hermione knew he had something to say. But something must have changed his mind, because when he replied, it was with indifference and little concern.

"You're just hallucination, Granger, probably all this stuff about the tournament. What do you expect - he's working for the Dark Lord? Fat chance." He reached out and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Stop being such a Hufflepuff, and be more Slytherin - or if you prefer, more Gryffindor."

* * *

Hermione took her place across from Montague, who had started spending a lot more time in the library because he no longer had Quidditch practices due to the Tournament.

"Oh, hey," he said, looking up, with a slightly alarmed look on his face.

"Glad to see you're coming here more often," Hermione said happily, pulling out her Transfiguration textbook.

"I'm surprised you can," Montague replied, "with what all you've got to help Potter with, even though Weasley's rejoined your trio."

"Well, there's not much to worry about," she commented, setting down her quill and ink, "considering the biggest challenge for them is learning how to dance for the Yule Ball, and finding dates."

He smirked. "Not likely they will."

Hermione flipped through her book. "At any rate, Harry'll have to, because he's a champion, and champions are required to have one." She glanced up at him as a thought occurred to her. "Have you got one yet?"

"Got - got what?"

"A date to the ball," she supplied exasperatedly, "since you're so skeptical of Harry and Ron."

"Er," he said, obviously at a loss for words. "Well, I asked Hannah Greengrass - her cousin, Daphne, is in your year, so you might know her - but she was already going with someone, so no, I actually don't have a date. But I will, just you watch," he added in hurridly, at Hermione's disapproving look.

"Whatever you say," she said in a sing-song voice, and promptly bent over her parchment and began writing.

They worked in silence for about ten minutes, until Montague slapped down his quill and said rather quickly, "Willyougototheballwithme?"

"I beg your pardon?"

He seemed to be within a strong internal conflict, and dragged out the words slowly. "Will you go to the ball with me?"

"Oh." Hermione felt the blood rush to her face, and bit her lip nervously. "Er." She didn't quite know how to tell him that she already had a date, and how to do it nicely. "I, er, actually already,have a date. Erm. Sorry."

She cringed as a look of utter embarrassment came across Montague's face, something she would never expect to come from a Slytherin. He opened his mouth a few times to start speaking, but never seemed to be able to find the words.

It was with luck they were saved from this awkward moment by a scream from a certain redhead third year.

"HERMIONE GRANGER! WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN'S BEARD ARE YOU DOING?!"

Hermione couldn't suppress a smile at Ginny, although the youngest Weasley looked positively mortified by the sight of her sitting across from Graham Montague.

"_Do you know who this is_?!" she hissed, throwing dirty looks at the Slytherin. "Graham Montague, the Slytherin Chaser! And what are you doing with him? Sitting across the table, talking like you're best friends!"

"Erm, well that's because-"

"You're lucky I'm the one to see you - if my idiot brother saw you, he'd probably blow up the place with his screams, but that's not the point here, no, the point is, you've got a lot of explaining do, Hermione."

"Well, we've kind of been friends since my first year and his third year," Hermione said as fast as she could, carefully watching the impact of these words, and decided the results showed she should not continue explaining.

It was with gratitude that Madam Pince suddenly appeared, glaring furiously at them and whispered threateningly, "I will not allow you to make such loud noises for the students who come to get work done! Get out of the library. Now!"

Hermione, who couldn't help but remember how this was how she and Montague had met three years ago, quickly scooped up her belongings and ran out the door from Madam Pince's book duster, Montague and Ginny trailing behind her.

They jogged a length of the second floor corridors before Ginny wheeled them to a stop and glared accusingly at the two of them. "Presumably, my brother and Harry don't know?"

"You said yourself how Ron would act," Hermione pointed out. "But Hagrid knows."

The redhead nodded in agreement to Hermione, then slowly turned to Montague, a dangerous glint in her eye.

"And you. What's your business with Hermione?"

"Ginny!" Hermione reprimanded.

"Well, I've got to find out more about him, see if the rumors are true!" she defended.

"If you're talking about the ones that you Gryffindors spread around," Montague suddenly drawled, "they're not true."

"Good for you," Ginny said coolly, but nevertheless, looked slightly taken back. She pulled Hermione to the side and whispered, "He hasn't insulted me yet. Why hasn't he insulted me yet? He _is_ that Montague bloke, right?"

"Yes, he is," Hermione said quietly, "and he knows better than to insult people in front of me, because he knows I'll hex him or something." She grinned, remember the time in third year when she'd gotten so very close to hexing the idiot.

Ginny looked at Hermione admiringly. "You do know how to keep them tame, don't you?" she asked, shaking her head in wonder. "Oh, just go back to him," Ginny said, waving her hand at Montague, who was glancing at them suspiciously. "We'll talk later."

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Ginny."

"And I won't tell either!" came a yell from behind as Hermione walked back to her friend.

"And there you have it," Hermione gestured at Ginny's retreating form. "Ginny Weasley."

"A whole more of a nightmare than I imagined."

"She's not bad!"

"Fine, Weaslette's better than Weasley, but they're still both weasels."

As they started down, Hermione almost wanted him to resume talking about the ball, almost _wanted_ him to ask her again. Of course, she would still have to refuse, because of Viktor, but (and this was a horrible, horrible thought) if one best friend fancied her enough to ask her to the dance, couldn't the same happen with another? Especially if he was a certain red-haired someone?

* * *

Hermione ran out into the hall, cursing herself for crying in public. At least ten people had seen her - and she wasn't looking forward to being asked why, especially by Draco Malfoy.

But never mind the Slytherin git - it wasn't him that made her cry, it was one of her best friends. Honestly, he could be so _daft_ sometimes; not even realizing she was a _girl_ until he and Harry became desperate, then becoming jealous when she appeared with Viktor! _Boys._

She collapsed on the stairway, sobbing quietly into her hands. Was anyone going to come, she wondered? Harry? Ginny? or...

"And here I am, ready to save the damsel yet again."

She hated herself for falling for the deep voice, for knowing that he _would_ come to the rescue, right on time, as always.

Hermione looked up from her hands, and tried to speak, but no sounds came out.

Montague sighed and crouched down on the floor. "Granger," he said, obviously trying to sound soothing, "you know that I'm quite bad at calming people down, so be a good Gryffindor, and get up."

Sniffling, she did so.

"Thank Merlin," he said in a relieved tone. "Okay. So why are you crying?"

"Be-because of-of _him_," she whispered.

"Oh, and that's so very descriptive."

"I m-meant, because of R-ron." A fresh wave of tears came upon her, and she reached out to hug Montague. "H-he's such a dimwit! Telling m-me I'm 'fraternizing with the e-enemy'; wh-what's wrong with going to t-the ball with another champion, especially s-since Harry doesn't even care! H-how come Roger Davies isn't f-fraternizing with the enemy, because h-he went with Fleur Delacour? How come it's all _my_ fault?"

He awkwardly held her as she sobbed into his shoulder, too shocked to react. "Erm, it's probably because he was surprised at seeing you with Krum. Who wasn't? And especially since you looked all nice and such... He's jealous."

Hermione hiccupped, then glanced up at him. "You really think so?"

He nodded, hardly believing what he was doing - sticking up for Weasley.

She smiled - it was barely even a smile, just a little twitch of her mouth, but still, a smile - and wiped her face, although she was still crying. "Thanks," she whispered, then hugged him again.

"So, what do you say, we go back inside?" Montague gestured towards the Great Hall.

It was very tempting, but Hermione shook her head. "I don't think I can go back there yet. But could- could you tell Viktor that I'll be gone for awhile?"

He almost didn't want to, almost wanted to have Krum wait for Granger like he had to - and he hadn't even gotten the Gryffindor! But then, Montague looked at her face, full of promise and trust, and knew he couldn't refuse. "Yeah, I'll tell him."

"Thank you." She smiled again. He turned around to leave, then paused when he stood at the end of the corridor.

"Feel better, Granger."

* * *

Montague glanced at his watch. Fifty minutes. Ten minutes left, then the hour was over. The French girl had come up to the surface - unable to save her hostage. No matter, whatever the task was, they weren't going to hurt the hostages. They wouldn't let them. Would they?

Like everyone else, he was at the edge of his seat, searching for any sign of a ripple in the lake. Because as soon as he found out they were meeting at the Black Lake, he knew. Why else would she and Weasley not be found in the stands, when she'd promised to sit close enough to communicate during the task?

Because she _was_ the task.

He was disgusted with himself - acting like a Hufflepuff. He fretted - yes, he _fretted _- about how she was going to breathe down there (he decided Dumbledore would do something about it), what was happening to her (how many things lived in the Black Lake anyway?), and how she would get out (did he really trust Krum?).

He checked the time again. Six minutes left. Couldn't Krum hurry? Couldn't he be as good as this as he was at Quidditch? Montague scoffed and couldn't help but think that if he were Krum, he'd have gotten Granger out as soon as possible - but then again, he didn't know what was going on down there.

One hour. Time's up.

He tapped his feet impatiently as the crowd started to panic. His friend, Patrick Avery, who sat next to him, snorted and said, "I'd have thought Krum would've come up by now." Yes, so did he.

"THERE!"

An uproar came from the crowd as Montague strained to look at the water. Was that - was the Krum? No, no it wasn't; it was Diggory, with the Chang girl. He sat down disappointedly, scowling at the Hufflepuff stands, even though he wore the red badge that supported Diggory and flashed "Potter sucks".

He was taken from his reverie yet again, with a shout from the Durmstrang group. He bolted upwards - and there they were: Granger and Krum bobbing in the water, soaked to the skin, and noticeably shivering. Montague breathed a sigh of relief and sat down heavily. Thank Merlin she was okay.

He watched as the Gryffindor was carried to shore and wrapped in a blanket. Even so, as people fussed over her and Krum, her eyes were searching the water desperately. Montague saw, with a slight pang, that her eyes were alert with fear and determination, and knew at once what she felt. After all, hadn't he done the same thing the past hour?

He didn't know _why_ he cared so much - he just _did_. Being friends with the fourth year had many disadvantages, some darker than he cared to know.

All of a sudden, Granger's eyes snapped up and met his. He stared back at her. And somehow, she must have known, because she smiled and nodded slightly.

Montague leaned back. Maybe there was a chance, after all.

* * *

Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation. "How. Many. Times. Do I have to tell you? Why in the world would Harry lie about something like this?"

"Because he's a lunatic, Granger."

"Well, he's not going to tell the entire world the person who murdered his parents has somehow come back to life if it's not true," she snapped.

"For the love of Merlin, Granger, you were _there_ when Potter came out of the maze - you saw for yourself how he looked like! And he was carrying Diggory, which was weird enough, but then we saw he was dead. Is there any need to continue?"

Hermione slumped down the wall. They'd been going at this for an hour, in the circular room Montague had showed her in second year. She was trying to convince him that if Harry said You-Know-Who was back, You-Know-Who was back.

Problem was, she wasn't so sure herself.

It wasn't that she thought Harry was lying - Cedric's body had been untainted, yet he was undeniably dead. But the whole story about the Portkey was so preposterous that Hermione found her brain unable to sort the logic throughout. She sighed. She still believed Harry, and would stand by him.

"Cedric Diggory couldn't have dropped dead without any reason," she reminded Montague.

"Then how come Potter survived?"

Hermione got up and walked to the door (or tapestry). "You. Are. Impossible," she whispered menacingly.

"So is Potter's story," he called after her as she stomped away.

* * *

Montauge waited for her footsteps to recede, then let out the breath he had been holding. Hesitantly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper, a letter he'd read a hundred times already since he'd gotten it in the morning post. He fingered the Montague family seal, then opened the letter.

_Graham-_

_Our purpose has returned. Be prepared for a change for the better when you return home._

_-Father_

His father was right. This would certainly change everything.

* * *

**Please review, I'd really appreciate it! Thanks :P**


	6. Fifth Year

**Ah... fifth year. To be honest, for the other years, I didn't actually refer to the book to be sure of the moments - I pretty much did the best I could off the top of my head. But I actually own this book now... so the moments will be more precise :P **

**Thanks for the reviews and favorites - they really mean alot to me!**

* * *

"I feel kind of bad," Hermione said to Ron as they left Harry and Ginny behind. "Leaving Harry, and all."

"Yeah, you're right. He gets to relax, while we probably won't get to rest; prefects have to patrol the train." Ron looked positively crushed at the prospect of not being able to eat sweets from the trolley.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Actually, I meant how he looked when we said we had to go to the meeting."

"Oh. That too."

She sighed. "This is the first train trip that we haven't spent together, save first year."

Ron snorted. "Unless you count your annoying rant to us - '_that's not a real spell_' or _'you've got dirt on your nose_'."

Hermione huffed. "Well, don't blame me! I was nervous, and I'd just met Harry Potter! What was I supposed to say?"

"Nice to meet you?"

She suppressed a laugh as they approached the prefect compartment, where Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot waved at them from inside. As if by instinct, Hermione turned to look at the compartment next door - where she promptly saw her Slytherin friend staring disgustedly at Ron. Groaning in dread, she murmured to Ron, "Go on ahead, I'll be there in a moment.."

He shrugged then went into the compartment, while Hermione slowly slipped into the next.

"Weasley. I didn't think it was possible for him to become _prefect_" was the first thing Montague said, his face contorted into a look of mortification.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "It's not like you're much of a candidate either," she shot back.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Why so feisty, Granger?"

She glared at him. "Why so feisty? _Why so feisty? _Oh, I don't know, maybe because I sent _eight_ letters to you this summer, and I didn't so much as get a single word back. Do you know how hard it is to not go crazy with worry when you live in a place where all the words you hear are 'You-Know-Who', or 'Death Eaters' or 'attack'? I. Went. _Out of my mind because of you._ And this is what I get?"

"Calm down," he said, looking slightly alarmed, "I only couldn't because Father's been checking my letters."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. If she hadn't known him for four years, she wouldn't have caught the slight grimace, the way his eyes averted from her, the stiff way he held his hands. But she had, and she did, unfortunately for him.

"You're lying."

"I'm not!"

"You are."

She squinted at him. "There's something you're hiding, isn't there?"

"No."

This time, he looked directly at her, and didn't blink.

As they stared at each other, a Hufflepuff prefect opened the door and shouted back into the other compartment, "I found them!" She then faced Hermione and Montague, who stood like deer in headlights. "We've been waiting for you - come on!"

Hermione hustled out of the compartment staring at the Slytherin's back. And somehow, someway, she had the sinking feeling there was a lot more to this story than she'd thought.

* * *

Hermione rushed up the flight of steps to the Astronomy Tower, bursting into the room.

"Sorry I'm late," she said breathlessly, panting.

"What happened to being precise?" Montague asked teasingly.

"I lost track of time - usually Harry and Ron bother me, so I keep a mental watch, but as they're both at Quidditch..." She sighed as she took a seat next to him, staring out the window that faced Hagrid's hut. It seemed that ever since Ron made the Quidditch team, the trio never spent much time together - and when they did, they were always talking about You-Know-Who and the Order.

"Oh yeah, Weasley made the team, didn't he?" he snorted.

"Yes, which means all my closest friends are on Quidditch teams. Even the ones that don't go here," she added regretfully.

"Now there's _three_ weasels to deal with," Montague sneered.

Hermione pointedly ignored this comment, then said, "What do you think of Umbridge?"

"Pardon?"

"I mean, she's a little off her rocker, don't you think?"

"Just because she's with the Ministry doesn't mean she's off her rocker, Granger."

"I never said it did!" she replied indignantly. "It's just that her courses are absurd - how can we learn if there's no firsthand experience?"

He smirked when he heard this. "I heard about your outburst. Although I don't approve of this being done to Umbridge, it gives me relief to know that Potter and Weasley have taught you at least _one_ good thing."

"She deserved it; trying to tell us that Hogwarts is nothing without the Ministry 'helping'... and all her decrees! Who cares if she's got the Ministry's consent! She's got no right to restrict us from everyday objects or activities."

"Don't blame me, Granger," he started out slowly, "but the Ministry's got a point."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't tell me you're a reader of _The Daily Prophet_."

"I'm not," he assured her. "But Hogwarts _is _a lot more manageable with the decrees."

Hermione gaped at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, then composed herself. She walked to the window, where the lights in Hagrid's hut were still dark, and wondered for the hundredth time where Hagrid could be. "We all have our opinions," she said quietly, "but in this case, I think we're being used."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She hesitated. "Don't you think it's odd, that the Ministry's doing this? I mean... it's not a coincidence that Dumbledore and Harry's supposed to be lunatics, according to them. I think.. I think they're just using Hogwarts as an excuse to watch over Dumbledore, and..."

"And?" he prompted, his face unreadable.

"And isn't it possible," she whispered, "that the Ministry will be infiltrated?"

"What?" he asked incredulously. "That's a bit far, Granger. The Ministry won't be infiltrated. Who could have the power to?"

"You-Know-Who?"

Montague groaned. "Not this again... For the last time, he's _not_ back."

"He is! Don't you - don't you _feel_ it? It's like every time I walk into Diagon Alley, or go somewhere with Ministry officials, I feel this - this dark aurora around me, almost like a Dementor's near. And speaking of Dementors, did you know Harry got attacked?"

"Potter got attacked? When?"

"During the summer. By Dementors." Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. "Now why would the Ministry order Dementors to be released?" When he could obviously think of no reply, she smiled satisfactorily. "Exactly."

"You can't prove it's him."

"I can't. But you're forgetting something."

"What?" he asked.

And Hermione, who'd realized just in time that she was about to reveal information about the Order, simply turned out the door while cursing herself for being so obvious.

* * *

"Come off it."

"I'm serious!"

"Granger, listen to yourself. You want _me _to join in on your little Gryffindor duelling club? I'd sooner join spew!"

"It's not 'spew'," Hermione retorted hotly, "it's S.P.E.W.! And it won't only be for Gryffindor, we're inviting other houses as well!"

"Oh, sorry, I meant Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff," Montague said sarcastically.

Hermione groaned. Harry had finally agreed to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she desperately wanted Montague to join, even though she knew, deep down, that it was one of the last things he'd do.

"Which is why we need Slytherin," she suggested tiredly.

He leaned across their library table and said, "In case you haven't noticed, Slytherins aren't best friends with Gryffindors. As both a Slytherin and seventh year, it wouldn't do for me to go and ask Potter for help with my duelling. I can learn myself, thanks."

"Well it's not like Umbridge's helping! And even you can't deny that she's got a nasty plot up her sleeve, with the Ministry and all."

"Hark who's talking!" he shot back. "The group's not all sweet and innocent as you think, whether Potter's head or not."

"I never said that it was, I'm saying it's helpful, and you should learn from it too!" Hermione got up from her chair.

"Do you really think they'll accept me, Granger? Even you know better than that." Montague glared at her.

She sighed. "Just think about it, okay? We're meeting in the Hog's Head when we go to Hogsmeade." She started towards the door.

"Don't expect me to be there."

"I know."

"And..Granger?"

"Yes?"

"Don't let Umbridge find out."

She thought this an odd thing to say, but didn't comment on it.

"We won't."

* * *

She'd always liked the twins. Found them annoying, now and then, and their obsession with testing on first years was particularly distorted. But she'd never found cause to loathe them as she did now.

Hermione glared at the hospital bed, where her idiot of a friend was currently unable to even register she was there, although he was wide awake.

"Stupid Inquisitorial Squad," she muttered. Montague simply stared ahead numbly. Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office.

"Still here, Ms. Granger? Must be a close friend of yours." She got out a blue potion.

"Oh. Er. I guess you could say that," Hermione blushed.

As Madam Pomfrey fed Montague the potion and coaxed it down his throat, Hermione sighed and watched. She'd visited him almost every day the last week, but no change was noticeable. Once again, she mentally cursed him for being so arrogant and trying to dock points from the twins. She felt he should've known what Fred and George were capable of. In this way, she thought he was rather like Malfoy.

Hermione glanced up. Madam Pomfrey had finished his hourly dose, and was standing at the door of her office, looking at her with a most curious expression. When she saw Hermione staring back, she composed herself, hesitated, then said, "I remember the time where you were Petrified, this young man snuck in to visit you."

Startled at being addressed so directly, Hermione blurted out, "No, he didn't." She covered her mouth in embarrassment, and corrected herself. "I mean, he didn't sneak in. Right?"

But apparently, Madam Pomfrey had said all she'd wanted to, and retreated into the office without replying, although Hermione swore she saw her smile as she turned. Hermione bit her lip. How odd. She'd never thought about how he'd visited her second year. She couldn't help but smile a little. Strange, indeed.

* * *

"I almost liked it better when you were disorientated," Hermione muttered.

Montague grinned cheekily. "You know that's not true."

"I know it is."

Montague had recovered almost completely, and was well enough to do the homework his other friends had brought him. However, instead of doing work, he questioned Hermione endlessly about what was going on in the school.

"So what's Quidditch like?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, Ginny's excellent, although not as good as Harry, while Ron's going mad about it, especially since everywhere he goes, he's hearing 'Weasley is Our King'." She glared at him as she said this particular sentence.

"Malfoy's idea." He raised his hands in mock surrender.

Hermione sighed. "And then Harry's stressing about the D.A. and classes and everything else he's got to listen to."

"Which shouldn't be that hard."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but didn't answer.

After a moment of silence, she asked, "When'll you be getting out of here?"

"Pomfrey says tomorrow morning, though I can't play Quidditch for a week, even though we're against Ravenclaw soon."

"Why is everything about Quidditch?" she asked exasperatedly. "If I'm near Harry and Ron, it's about Quidditch, if I'm with you, it's about Quidditch, and when I write to Viktor, it's about Quidditch!"

He raised his eyebrows. "You still write to Krum?"

"Yeah," she said defensively. "What about it?"

Montague stared at her. "You're in correspondence with one of the most famous Quidditch players in the country."

"So?"

"Merlin, Granger! How many people would love to be in your place?"

"I don't know."

"Out of all his fans, he picks _you_..." Montague shook his head. "And you don't even wonder why?"

Hermione jumped out of her seat, blushing. "No, I don't, so you have no right to make anything of it either."

He grinned. "Didn't he invite you to his house in Bulgaria last year?"

Hermione practically raced towards the door. "I've, er, got to get to class. I'll see you!"

She burst out of the Hospital Wing with Montague calling, "It's Saturday, there's no classes!" after her.

* * *

Hermione surged towards the door along with her fellow peers at Harry's command. Fear coursed through her veins - if they were caught, they were dead. The best she could hope for was that none of her companions would be caught - Harry, Ron, and herself were the ones responsible for the D.A., so it wouldn't be fair if the others were punished.

She glanced behind her. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had gone their respective ways. Most of the other Gryffindors were up ahead, as she, Harry, and Ron were the last to leave. Harry, she'd seen, had gone a different way, while Ron was ahead. But - but what was the head of brown hair doing on the ground?

Hermione skidded to a stop, then sprinted backwards to Colin Creevey, who was on his knees searching for something.

"I've lost my wand!" he whimpered, desperately searching the marble floor.

"Never mind that, we've got to go!" Hermione hoisted him up. "We can look for it later, just go!"

Colin nodded, then dashed down the hallway. Just as Hermione was about to follow him, she felt a hand grasp her shoulders and cover her mouth.

"Relax, Granger, it's just me!" said her captor (technically savior), as she kicked at him and tried to bite his hand. "Be quiet!"

She stilled, then he let go of her. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"What in Merlin's name are you still doing here?" he asked fiercely, ignoring her comment. "Malfoy's caught Potter - you and the Weasel are next on his list, if you want to avoid the rest of them, don't go to the sixth corridor, find another way. GO!"

He pushed her to the opposite direction.

"Thanks," she whispered.

He just nodded, then hesitantly added, "Don't get caught."

"I won't," she promised, and turned down the hallway.

* * *

Hermione wandered through the seventh corridor. She thought she might visit the Room of Requirement, or perhaps the circular room. Harry and Ron were out playing Quidditch, and it seemed a shame to waste one of the last Sundays she had for the year doing extra work, especially since the O.W.L.s were over.

As she strolled along, she heard loud voices coming from ahead. Curious, she walked across the hallway. About halfway through, the words became more and more audible."

"...no right... know nothing... Hufflepuff... foul, no good _Mudblood_."

Hermione's eyes widened at this last word, and she immediately rushed around the corner.

It was probably the most appalling sight she'd ever seen in her life.

A single first year Hufflepuff was cornered against the wall, while two seventh year Slytherins towered above. The Hufflepuff's wand was on the floor a few feet from Hermione, while the Slytherins had both drawn theirs out, and was currently pointing them at the Hufflepuff.

One of them jabbed his wand onto the first year's forehead.

"_Stupe-_"

"_Protego_."

Both the Slytherins quickly turned in shock, hiding their wands behind their back. They obviously had not been expecting anyone to walk in on them.

"Don't. Speak. A. Word," Hermione said in such deathly tones that they obeyed. Or it may have been because her wand was pointed straight at them.

She didn't look at them in the face. She knew what she'd see if she did, _who_ she'd see. And she didn't want it to be true. So instead of looking at their faces, she eyed their shoes as she bent down the pick the Hufflepuff's wand. Walking slowly, her wand still facing the Slytherins, Hermione helped the first year up, and handed back his wand.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

The boy nodded, and, with one last terrified look at the Slytherins, scampered down the hallway.

As soon as he left, Hermione dropped her guard and looked the Slytherins in the eye. "I can't believe you," she choked out, then ran from the corridor.

"Granger, wait!" Montague called from the hall, and she could hear him quickly explaining to his friend, then his footsteps thundering behind her.

It didn't take long for him to catch her - he was a Quidditch player, after all. But by then she had steeled herself for everything he was going to say, and the only thoughts in her head was how she would _never_ befriend a Slytherin again.

"It's not what you think," he said, letting her arm go when he realized she wasn't going to run away.

"There's not much else it could've been," she replied stonily.

"You came at a bad time-"

"So the parts about you cornering him, or when you leave them there, Stupefied, are the good times?" she interrupted.

"That's not what I meant-"

"Then what?" she asked, glaring at him. "What exactly do you mean? What did you mean when you were about to curse him, what did you mean when you said 'Mudblood'?" When he didn't reply, she whispered, "I've wondered what makes them hate you so badly. You're a sore loser at Quidditch, yes, but Fred and George hate you particularly. And I've never asked, but always wondered. I guess this is the reason why.

"And something else I've wondered. Ever since second year, people have been calling me Mudblood and other names like that - and I've always found it odd how you never called me that. I thought you were different. But you weren't, were you? Because if what I just saw says anything about you, it's that you're a fraud. You're clever, for making me believe that you weren't the nasty Slytherin the twins always say you are. But you've used me, really."

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head, not being able to come up with anything else. "I'm sorry."

"I don't need to hear it. I'd rather have a conversation with Malfoy than you," she spat. "At least he hasn't lied to me about my blood status for five years." Hermione walked away.

And this time, he didn't call out to her.

* * *

Hermione bit her lip, and exchanged glances with Ron as Umbridge eyed them all in her office, her gaze lingering maliciously on Harry.

"Very well," said Umbridge. "Take me to the weapon."

Hermione felt Harry frantically trying to catch her eye, but only gave the slightest shake of her head. She wouldn't know the first thing to explain about her plan, anyway. It was a desperate plan - to cross paths with centaurs was dangerous, even as a 'foal'.

She was perfectly aware that another pair of eyes were trying to reach her as well, but she ignored this, as she tried to persuade Umbridge to make her Squad stay. The evil little woman agreed, and Hermione and Harry were blessed with the means of escape - the exit.

As Hermione slowly led the way out, she dared a glance back, and found herself looking straight at Montague, whom she hadn't so much as acknowledged since the incident. Until now, of course.

It was strange; in less than a millisecond of eye contact, Hermione instantly registered what he was saying: _Don't do it._

He knew. Hermione almost stopped in her tracks, because _he knew_. He knew where they were going, what Harry meant by 'Padfoot', he knew the place where it was hidden, _he knew_.

How could he know?

* * *

Hermione walked behind Harry and Ron along the Hogwarts Express, weaving through the mob of students. She looked sadly at Harry's back, which was slumped and without life. She missed Sirius desperately, as did everyone else, but no words could describe Harry's own despair. The Marauder's death was just another thing to add to the growing pile of Harry's troubles.

"Let's board here," she said quietly to them, and they nodded.

As Harry lifted his luggage up, someone tapped Hermione's shoulder. She, of course, knew who that somebody was.

"Can I, er, talk to you, Granger?" asked Montague, leaning against the door of the train.

The initial thought was to say no. She glanced back at Harry and Ron, who were raising their eyebrows in disgust at Montague. Her best friends' faces were enough to confirm her answer. But then she turned around, and really looked at him.

He was physically exhausted, that was obvious to anyone. He looked as if he was years older than he actually was, and it was startling how weak he seemed from when she'd last seen him - only two days ago. But it was his eyes that convinced her to say yes. His eyes - sunken, like he hadn't slept for days.

"I'll be right there," she said quickly to Harry and Ron, hoisting her luggage up before walking towards Montague. She crossed her arms, and said sharply, "Okay, what do you want?"

"Well first, I'd say sorry, but I know you wouldn't forgive me-"

"You've got that right," Hermione mumbled.

"-but that's not why I wanted to talk to you," he continued, as if she hadn't interrupted at all. In fact, Hermione doubted he even registered what she'd said.

"I wanted to tell you... well, I don't know how to say this, but..." Montague let out a breath and ran his hand nervously through his hair. Scanning the station quickly, he leaned forward and whispered, "The Dark Lord's back."

Hermione couldn't help herself - she quirked an eyebrow at him, ruining her plan of keeping her face completely neutral. "That's what I've been telling you since end of last year."

He pulled at his hair again. "No, I meant I've known that since then, and even before." He was looking at her with a most queer expression as she processed this information.

"So you're telling me you know he was back before he actually came back..?" she asked slowly.

"Yeah, that's it."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Tell me more."

He threw his hands up in the air. "There's nothing else to say, Granger. Use that brain of yours and figure it out."

Thing was, she already had, and he knew it. She had known the instant he'd mentioned Voldemort. And she also knew the reason why he was making her say it herself was that _he _didn't want to say it either.

"Please, don't say..." Hermione shook her head. He couldn't be...

Montague turned her so they were looking directly into each other's eyes. "I'm becoming a Death Eater."

It was like something had broken inside Hermione. She backed away fearfully, shaking her head. Surely, surely the same boy who took her on broom rides, who'd laughed with her in the library, who'd been one of her _best friends_... could he really be the enemy?

He was shaking his head too. "I'm sorry," he whispered despairingly, "I'm sorry."

"How could you do this?" she cried out. She whipped around, and ran back to the train.

"Who was that?" asked Ron eagerly, apparently not recognizing Montague in his current state.

"What did he want?" Harry added suspiciously.

"He's... no one," Hermione replied, waving their questions away and continuing down the hallway in search of a compartment.

Because as far as she was concerned, she'd never really known him.

* * *

**What a terrible ending - it makes me even MORE motivated to write the next (and most likely final) chapter. Yes, I'm almost positive the next chapter will be the last. Which is sad, because I've become attached to this... **

**Review?**


	7. The War

**Last chapter :( unless I have a brilliant idea on how to continue it (but I doubt it'll happen). Basically this is separated into two parts - a very short summary of sixth year (because I don't see a point in there being a whole chapter about events where they're ignoring each other, especially since Montague's out of Hogwarts..) and about the war. I thought about having stuff of when they were on the run, but I settled on just having the Final Battle in this one, and afterwards.**

**I was fairly happy with this chapter/ending, and I hope you guys will be too!**

* * *

**Sixth Year**

As the threat of Voldemort grew and grew, so did his forces. Among them, Graham Montague. He wasn't one of the Death Eaters that performed inhumane acts on Muggles or other wizards; instead, he often helped with strategizing and kept watch over prisoners.

On the other hand, Hermione was finishing up her sixth year at Hogwarts. Being a friend of Harry Potter, she was one of the most common subjects to talk about at the Dark Side's meetings, along with Ron.

The two never corresponded, because of two reasons: Hermione swore she would never talk to him again, and the fact no mail or means of transportation was secret from Voldemort was enough to wipe all thoughts of owl post from their minds. But, on different sides of the picture, both constantly wondered how the other was doing.

* * *

**The Final Battle**

Spells. Shouting. People falling dead to the ground. Was this what war was like?

He'd pictured it more glorified, less bloody. Perhaps he had been lulled into the Dark Lord's inspirational speeches like his Hogwarts friends. Which, he knew, were mostly dead. Wasn't everyone?

Montague cowered against the wall, his wand pointed in case he needed to shield himself. He'd put a Disillusionment Charm on himself, so nobody could aim a curse at him. He liked to believe he was doing it to help others (true, he was shooting Shield Charms into the crowd, sometimes helping the Dark side, and sometimes the Light), but he knew he was really just being a weakling. He could practically hear _her_ voice chiding him - but he didn't move. He needed to find his purpose in the war, and he couldn't very well do that if he was killed.

Seeing Potter die in front of his eyes was almost unbearable. Hearing her cry out his name _was_ unbearable. He'd almost been able to see her eyes fill up with tears, the pain in her voice heartbreakingly real.

But the sight of their Savior dead was probably one of the most shocking parts of the war, so far. To know that he had died - the Boy Who Lived hadn't lived up to his name. How could he have been so willing to go to his death? So careless?

Potter had known, Montague thought, as a poorly aimed spell barely missed him and crashed against the wall. Potter had known he would die, yet he had walked into the clearing fearlessly. What had been his motivation? How could he want to lose his life, when he had so many people who _wanted_ to fight for him?

He shot a Shield Charm that blocked a Killing Curse from hitting the Lovegood girl, who was battling against Bellatrix along with the Weaselette and Granger.

Granger. How he hated her.

How many times had he tried to smuggle information out of caught prisoners? How long had he bothered Draco Malfoy when he'd heard that the Golden Trio had been captured, and the girl tortured? His one weakness in the war lay on the enemy side.

She looked empty, he pondered, watching her from a distance. Montague had always admired her ability to be free, and one of the things he noticed most was the spark in her eyes, the spark ignited by life. Except now... it was different, the spark. It was still there, but it had a darker light to it, of vengeance. He much preferred the other one.

He tore his eyes away from her and sought out the third part of the trio - Weasley. He was much closer than Granger - close enough so that Montague could hear the spells he uttered. How he loathed the Weasel, because if there was one thing he remembered Malfoy said about the capture, it was how he wouldn't shut up while she was being tortured. He almost appreciated Potter for being so savior-like, or else they'd have never gotten out alive.

On instinct, his eyes darted towards Granger. "_Protego!_" he cast, just barely shielding her from what he knew was one of Bellatrix's worst torturing spells.

A shuffle came from the left, and he quickly turned, his wand ready. No one was there, but even over the battle, he could hear sharp breaths being taken.

"Montague?"

Montague sighed in relief, then lowered his wand. "Malfoy."

"So you've Disillusioned yourself too?" Montague had never realized how affected Malfoy could be by the war, but right now, it was evident in his voice.

"Yeah, it keeps curses out of my way."

"Same," whispered Malfoy, and Montague felt him stand against the wall a few feet away. "My parents are looking for me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Why aren't you going to them?"

The younger boy was silent for a moment, then said, "Because I don't want to be patted like a child while people are being killed all around me."

Montague nodded, not that Malfoy could see him. After all, wasn't that the reason why he hadn't run from the battleground altogether?

They stayed in silence, other than a few whispered spells shot into the battle. Someone must have noticed, because a few minutes later, both heard an "_Expelliarmus!_" and felt their wands fly out of their hands and clatter on the rubble a few hundred feet away.

Montague and Malfoy looked around wildly. The latter dived onto the ground for their wands. Montague was just about to do the same when he saw it - his purpose.

He knew it was his father because of his pose. Stiff, yet like a lion ready to pounce on prey. Often, as a boy, he would wonder why his father could be the perfect parent one minute, then turn evil and heartless the next. His wand was his glory - and currently, his target was none other than Ronald Weasley.

There was no time to hesitate, no time to grab his wand and hope there was time, just enough time to sprint and pray he'd make it.

How odd, he thought, as he jumped over fallen bodies, how odd, that he'd be killed by his own father. How odd, that he was running to certain death. How odd, he'd be saving the very person he hated most in the world, how odd, he was going to die for her. And really, neither of them would know.

He took a flying leap, and whispered, hoping she could hear him wherever she was, "I'm sorry."

The last thing he saw was a bright green light.

* * *

Hermione hugged Ginny one last time, then respectfully walked away from the grieving Weasley family. She, too, could hardly hold back the tears for Fred, but she had a job - and reputation - to live up to, as one of the Golden Trio. But for now...

She silently helped other survivors move the dead bodies into a line, a line where families and friends would huddle and cry at certain bodies. _It's horrible_, she thought, as she saw Colin Creevey lying motionless and staring up at the nonexistent ceiling, _that all these lives are completely destroyed._

The fallen Death Eaters were propped neatly against the short wall, not given the luxury of lying down. This was where she headed first, keeping her wand out cautiously. Most of their masks had been taken off, so she could identify them fairly easily. _Rookwood. Goyle. Bellatrix Lestrange. Greyback._ All horrible, horrible people. But not the one she was looking for.

He wasn't among the unidentified, either. That gave her hope - perhaps she had been imagining...?

She was about to search the Death Eaters again, when she saw something most curious- a wand, lying on the ground. She knelt onto the ground and picked it up. It almost immediately warmed up to her, and shot out gold sparks from the tip. She knew instantly this was Montague's wand. With the feeling of hope banished into dread, Hermione pocketed the wand, then continued forward.

"He's not there," said a quiet voice, one Hermione knew fairly well. She instantly spun around, with her wand at the ready and her eyes glaring into the grey ones of Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy," she spat, "I don't know why you're still here, but the only reason why I haven't yelled for people to come over is that I know your mum saved Harry back there."

"You're looking for him, aren't you?" Malfoy asked curiously, not looking the least bit concerned that one of the greatest war heroes was pointing her wand at him. "Montague?"

Caught off her guard, Hermione blurted, "How did you know?"

"Because I was with him during the battle." He didn't need to say the rest; she filled it in for him.

"And when he died."

Malfoy didn't meet her eyes. "I'll bring you to him." He jerked his head towards the corner of the Great Hall. "He's over there."

Hermione bit her lip. She wasn't sure whether it was a trap or not. Malfoy must have read her mind, because he laughed humorlessly and said, "Granger, I'm doing you a favor here. You're surrounded by people who adore you. Even if I wanted to do something, I couldn't."

She nodded, then walked behind him. She felt like she was in a dream - half there, half not. Was she really going to see her best friend dead? Malfoy stopped so suddenly in front of her that she crashed into him.

"Here." He seemed to be breathing heavily, but Hermione took no notice. Instead, she shut her eyes, stepped around Malfoy, then opened them.

It was too painful to scream. She could only stare in complete horror at her best friend's body, his brown eyes open with green reflecting off the pupils. How much he had changed. He was covered in dirt and blood, and she had a feeling that he'd been tortured more than once, by the look of his limbs. She knew war could do terrible things to people, but the full extent of that never reached her until now.

Hermione collapsed on the the floor, whispering, "No, no, no, no..." while clinging onto his lifeless hand. It seemed so surreal to her. Her best friend, the one who had stayed by her since first year... how could he be gone?

"I tried to help." Malfoy's whisper cut through the air.

"You could've done more." Hermione couldn't help it. She didn't want to blame him, because it wasn't his fault, but she had to, because what else could she do? She had only survived the war because of the thought of being able to be friends with him afterwards, and now he was dead?

Malfoy didn't reply.

Hermione bit her lip, then sighed. Maybe that was a little extreme. "I'm so-"

"He was saving Weasley, you know," he interrupted. His voice cut through the air as the full meaning hit her.

"_What_?" she asked incredulously, the similar feeling of dread rising once again.

"He blocked the curse from hitting Weasley," Malfoy repeated monotonously.

Hermione stood up in shock, staring at him. "What do you mean?"

"What I said."

Hermione started to shake her head slowly. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her breaths became increasingly short and rapid, until the only thing she needed was to run. She pushed past Malfoy, who didn't seem to process her leaving, and, instead of going back to the Entrance Hall, turned sharply down the corridor. She didn't know where she was going, but she couldn't, there was no way she _could_, bear to see Ron right now.

She ran and ran through the corridors, some with no walls left, or paintings torn and broken, but all with memories of war. And when Hermione stopped in front of the tapestry of the seventh corridor, only half of the tapestry remained on the wall, the other severed and thrown onto the ground.

Hermione entered the room. It was exactly how she remembered it to be (she supposed it was one of the luckiest of Hogwarts), exactly how she'd left it the countless times she'd come in sixth year, except for a box that sat on the table.

Numbly, she walked towards it and picked it up. It was made of polished wood, and had no carvings save one thing: the Montague family crest. Breathing heavily, she sat down and opened the box.

Nestled inside were letters. Hermione took them all out and set the box on the table. There were five letters total. She picked up the first one, and read the date. June 17, 1996. The familiar handwriting. He'd made sure she'd gotten something.

She placed the letters back into the box, put her face in her hands, and let out a hopeless sob.

She could have done without the letters - having him alive would be enough.

* * *

_June 17, 1996_

_Dear Granger,_

_If you've received this box, I am dead. I do not know how I have died, but hopefully it's for some noble cause, and I haven't turned out to be useless, after all. _

_I am writing these letters to you (that I hope you will never read - I'd rather tell you in person) because I am afraid we will part on less than friendly terms. Not only that, but I must tell someone of the happenings going on, or I think I will go crazy._

_I became a Death Eater today. Even now, a few hours later, my left arm still throbs. I have been branded. I am, for life, bound to the Dark Side. Here's your cause to hate me, Granger. _

_If it makes you feel any better, I'm not part of the troops that go out and torture people. Instead, I've been assigned to help strategize. I feel bad about saying this, but to be honest, some of the tactics I've been using have come from you. ...I think I've given you another reason to despise me._

_Father's always believed the Dark Lord would come back. He installed this thought into Mother and I, so naturally, he'd instantly join his forces. He wanted me to be one of them the beginning of last year, but Mother refused, and said I should finish my education first, or the Ministry would come upon us. Mother's always fought for the better choices, and I suppose that's why the Dark Lord wants to kill her._

_It's odd to think that you're still at Hogwarts, having fun with Potter and Weasley, while I'm here planning people's deaths. In sixth year, the year of the Triwizard Tournament, I actually believed you would maybe come to the Dark Side. It didn't take me that long to realize that joining the Dark Lord was worse to you than torture and death. For one, you're too devoted to Potter._

_Well, Father's calling me - we're celebrating my new status as a Death Eater. But personally, I don't feel as if it's worth celebrating._

_-Montague_

_P.S. I hope you're having a good summer._

* * *

_February 2, 1997_

_Dear Granger,_

_I've finally found space to fit in another letter, and to actually write it down. I've probably mentally recorded a hundred letters by now, but that's all in my head, and won't make it onto paper. _

_It's been quite busy here, as I'm sure you'll know. The attacks are more often, and most nights we have to stay up to plan. Our main target is, of course, Potter, but if I reveal anything, I may as well be dead._

_Speaking of revealing and being dead, another reason why I'm not going to write all the time is because of the Dark Lord's astonishing skills of Legilimency. I'm sure you can give me all the information in the world about Legilimency, so you'll know how bad it is if he suspects me and uses it. If only I knew more Occlumency..._

_Anyway, speaking of the Dark Lord (aren't we always?), you haven't happened to notice anything... fishy, about Draco Malfoy, have you? I wouldn't be surprised if you did - the task he's been given should hardly be given to one of his inner circle Death Eaters. Honestly, the only reason he's been given it was so that the Malfoy family would be shamed. _

_You're going to find out eventually, so I may as well tell you his task - he's got to kill Dumbledore. It's crazy, isn't it? A sixth year trying to kill the second most powerful wizard on the planet? Yes, well, that's his task. _

_You're going to kill me for this, but I actually have been one of the most vital assets in his plans. See, it seems the Weasley twins are more useful than they look - pushing me into the Vanishing Cabinet last year was probably one of the most valuable things they will ever do for this world. But enough about the plan - can't have myself going into too much detail._

_Truth is, Malfoy's alright. I always thought he was a complete git, but spending time with him really opens up new doors. He's incredibly stressed, though - most times, I've got to cover for him to his mum and dad. We've become fair mates, although I'm sure that you could've done without knowing that._

_If there was one thing I could tell you in person, it would be to be careful. Malfoy's plan just might work - and it involves Hogwarts in general, so _be careful_. If there were two things I could tell you, the second thing would be to befriend Malfoy (it's like I'm giving away my best friend to someone who needs her more). _

_It's weird - I almost want you to find these letters._

_Sincerely,_

_Montague_

* * *

_July 16, 1997_

_Dear Granger,_

_I really would like more than anything to go and tell you to not even _think_ about going to 'rescue' Potter. The Dark Lord has found out about it - courtesy of Snape. By the way, watch out - I hear Snape will be headmaster next year at Hogwarts. If you even make it there, with what we've managed to make the Ministry do. _

_You once told me you suspected the Ministry would be infiltrated. It's almost scary how your brain can think so far ahead - it's only been a little more than one year, but it feels a lifetime since Hogwarts. But honestly, how in the world did you know? _

_Since we're on the subject on how much information you have in that head of yours, I may as well mention it - Horcruxes. I've never heard the word before, only once, when Malfoy said he heard Snape say it. It carries something dark, surely. I wish you were here, so you could tell me what the blasted word means. Whatever it is, the Dark Lord doesn't want anyone to know about it. _

_The Dark Lord can't emphasize enough that he must be the one to kill Potter. Which is daft, of him, I think. It buys more time for Potter to get away. That's good, though, isn't it? You're always going to be alongside Potter, and so I can't very well_ want _Potter to be captured._

_You're always going to be with Potter. You and Weasley, his faithful sidekicks. So it's pretty stupid for me to warn you about Hogwarts next year, etc., because you're going to be with Potter. On the run. And we'll have no choice but to hunt you three down. With the plans. That I help make._

_Merlin, Granger, it'd be so much easier if we were on the same side._

_Sincerely,_

_Montague_

* * *

_March 26, 1998_

_Granger-_

_If I ever see you again, you're dead. ...Okay, not a good thing to joke about in post-war times. But you get the point._

_Honestly, getting yourselves caught by saying the Taboo word? If there's one thing you shouldn't be caught for, it's that. I swear, when Malfoy told me about it, I was ready to track you down and murder you for being so careless. And Bellatrix... every time I see her, my blood just boils, and there's nothing more I'd like to do than give her what she deserves for torturing you. _

_To think if I'd stayed at the Manor a few minutes longer, then I would've _been _there._

_I can't get over it - what in Merlin's pants were you doing? You've got to be less conspicuous. The Dark Lord's seriously planning to capture Potter for good now; and if he does, you're going down with the Boy Who Lived But Didn't. _

_I've thanked Malfoy a million times by now, because from what he told me, he may have saved your lives. He's not a bad bloke. In fact, he's got such morality, still, that I honestly think he'd be better off on your side._

_Don't die, Granger. Promise me you won't die._

_Your friend (but really enemy),_

_Montague_

* * *

_May 1, 1998_

_Dear Granger,_

_It's weird - I've never thought about going into battle. Sure, I've been planning all these attacks and such, but never have I actually thought about battle. Strange._

_When the Carrows called the Dark Lord, everyone prepared for battle. It didn't matter if the Dark Lord got there before us - Potter wouldn't give up, so we'd have to fight anyway._

_I was excited, at first, you know. I was going to be in battle. I would have a purpose. I would help the Dark Lord rise once more. _

_But then I thought about who I was up against. How, the people I would have to shoot Killing Curses at could be some of your close friends. How, some of the adults I was up against would be my former professors. And of course, how under these Death Eater masks, we're all the same to you. All filth, for supporting the Dark Lord. Then the battle didn't feel so exciting anymore. _

_You asked me once, why I'd become friends with you when you were just a first year. In Gryffindor, mind you. Well, I guess I should tell you now, because there's always a chance I won't make it. _

_The reason's simple: I needed someone to talk to. _

_I never went into the library first and second year. In fact, I probably wouldn't have third year if my best mate wasn't so intent on being first in the class. And it was then I noticed you. You were always in the library, and to be completely honest, I thought you were somebody I could play around with. You weren't supposed to become important to me. _

_I didn't realize this until my sixth year. _Three years_ after I should've. That was the year of the Triwizard Tournament. When you were in the lake, for the second task, it was torture. And then the Yule Ball... I still can't believe a girl made me hate Viktor Krum._

_You're probably still mad at me for fifth year. I don't blame you. But if I die in this war, I'd like to imagine you've forgiven me. So I'm sorry that I lied to you, that I made the wrong choice, and I really do hope you win this war. But in case I'm not there to tell you this in person... I love you, Hermione Granger._

_Yours,_

_Graham Montague_

* * *

**Well, here it is! Done, and finished. Sorry for the late update - I've been busy this past week and such. I'd like to give thanks to all my readers who've supported me throughout - I probably couldn't have done it without you!**


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